Be Mine
by electric violinist
Summary: A small boy runs away from his mother's wake, only to meet some frightening teenagers in the woods he'd wanted to hide in. But there was worse out in the woods, a creature that found the boy appealing, wanting to claim him as its own. Rating for later chapters. Sterek.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: First ever Teen Wolf fanfic. I was meant to be doing many other things, so naturally this happened. I was bitten by a plot bunny, and an adoration of Stiles and Derek and sat down with a note book and a pen, and ignored the work and chores and friends and projects. I will do my best to keep updating as regularly as I can.**

**Warnings for angst, misery, drama, fluff, OC villain, er... probably other things. Enjoy, and please talk to me about it. I crave reviews possibly more than I crave chocolate. And I can't live without chocolate. Thank you for reading.**

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He'd run from his mother's funeral.

There had been tons of people in his house, milling around, looking him with pity, talking in not so hushed voices, saying things like 'that poor kid,' and 'imagine grouping up without a Mom,' and 'poor John, all alone with that hyperactive kid,' and 'we all thought he was gonna be sheriff. That's not gonna happen now is it?'

Later in his life he might have understood, that was just the sort of thing people said at wakes; meaningless sympathy, mindless chatter, but, at the age of eight, he didn't know that. He'd taken it for hints. He was something to be pitied because he'd lost his mom, but not as much as his dad, because his dad had lost his mom and was now stuck with the hyperactive kid.

His dad had been crying a lot, drinking a lot. He'd been watching from the stairs when his idol passed out on the couch last night. Right now, his dad was being looked after by Scott's mom. They were talking together quietly in the kitchen as other well-meaning people wondered, talking quietly about Mom. No one really wanted to talk to him. There'd been a couple of 'Hey sweetie, how ya doing?'s and the odd pat on the shoulder, but it hadn't taken much to get out the back door. It was already twilight, but he didn't think anyone would notice any time soon.

He thought about going to Scott's house, but he knew Scott wouldn't be there, because Scott was at some grandparent's house now. Scott's mom had whispered something about Scott being too young to understand. So he didn't stop at Scott's house. He just walked. Miles.

At least, it might have been miles. He was only little, and his sense of time and distance were probably not as developed as they would become. He made it as far as the trees that outlined the preserve, but it was almost pitch black by then, and he hadn't thought to bring a torch. In fact, he hadn't brought anything.

He was shivering now, not just from the cold. The woods, which had always seemed like a fun place for adventures during the day, seemed to loom threateningly in the dark. But that didn't stop him. He was ADHD and impulsive; scary forests that could have come straight out of a fairy tale were little more than a temptation to him.

He only got so far in before he realised he couldn't see. The sun had disappeared from the sky, and any glow from the stars seemed to be. He shuffled blindly for a while before he heard the snuffling. It was probably something tiny, like a squirrel, but to his eight year old ears, it was nothing short of a dragon ready to roar and eat him.

He didn't scream, because he may be eight but he wasn't some girl. But he did run, because he wasn't stupid.

He fell a lot. Over roots and rocks and other stuff. He grazed his knees and cut his hands, and he ran and ran and ran until he was caught by a pair of arms.

Then he screamed.

It took him a while to hear the voices.

"Shut him up! Where did he even come from?"

"I don't know!"

"Can't you make him stop? He's just a kid!"

"What do you suggest I do, Peter?"

"I don't know, knock him out? Gag him?"

"He's a kid!"

"Just … put a hand on his mouth or something!"

"He's like… 8!"

"You want me to do it?"

"No, just…"

A hand was placed gently over his mouth. It didn't calm him down.

"He's trying to bite me!"

"Well, maybe we could just use him as bait for the…"

"Peter!"

The one called Peter made a disgusted noise. "Fine, we take him back to the house. You can look after him until we've dealt with everything."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who doesn't want him to be eaten."

The one holding him moaned a bit, but he felt himself be lifted by an arm around his waist, the hand still on his mouth. He kicked and wriggled, but it did very little.

They got to a big house, and his brain, that had watched one too many episodes of Scooby doo, couldn't help thinking that this was going to be haunted. It was practically a mansion, and obviously millions of years old, and had a great big door and was twice as tall as his house.

As he was dragged inside. He gave up kicking and tried scratching.

"Ow!" said the one holding him.

"Oh, little boy," sneered Peter, "Are we getting claws out, now? Do you think that's wise? You wouldn't want us to do the same, would you?"

There was enough light now for him to see Peter, who was a thin, sneering young man, who leant forward right at him and finished; "You see, our claws are slightly bigger."

Peter's fingernails grew before his eyes. That time he did scream, and struggle for all he was worth.

"Peter!" scolded the one who held him.

"Well, have fun with my nephew, little boy," Peter smiled.

"Peter! What am I supposed to do with him?"

Peter shrugged, "Read him a bedtime story, teach him his ABCs, test him on his times tables, just make sure he doesn't leave this house until it's safe."

"Peter!"

"Hey, kid, what's your name?"

The boy told him. Peter laughed.

"Yeah, I'm never gonna say that. Have fun!"

"Peter!" protested the guy holding the boy.

But Peter had gone, leaving the boy with just the one who held him. He stilled. Looking around him, at the ancient furniture, at the luxurious carpets that could have been part of a film set, he saw nothing that could calm him.

The man holding him had stilled. He imaged the man was watching him.

"If I let go, do you promise you won't try to run?"

The boy nodded. The man holding him released him slowly, but he could see those hands ready to grab him once more, so he didn't try anything. He turned slowly so he could look at his captor.

The man was much younger than he expected. In fact, he thought this was a teenager more than a man, significantly taller than he was, but shorter than he'd expected.

"Who are you?" he asked instead of obeying his desperate need to run.

The teenager shifted slightly, "I don't think I should tell you that."

The boy frowned at him.

"Why not?"

"Because… then I'd have to kill you."

He jumped up in fear, and the teen looked sorry. "I don't mean… that was a joke!"

"A joke?" the boy repeated.

"Yes…"

"You know jokes are supposed to be funny, right? They're not supposed to make you piss your pants with fear."

"Yeah…"

"I think that was more a threat than a joke."

"No, look, it was just a stupid thing to say, I didn't mean it."

"Then don't say it!"

"Ok!"

There were a few moments of silence as the boy observed his captor. The teen shifted from foot to foot, but his hands were in his pockets as though he were trying to look relaxed.

"Come on," said the teen, pushing the boy gently into a room on the left, which turned out to be a kind of living room.

"What am I supposed to call you?" the boy asked.

The teen seemed surprised by the question. Maybe he'd expected the boy to hush up. But the boy never could be quiet. "I don't know…" said the teen, "Maybe sir?"

The boy blinked at him. "You want me to call you Sir?"

"Well, that's what people call strangers, right?"

"No, that's what shop assistants call my dad."

"Yes, fine, whatever," the teen mumbles, clearly annoyed.

"Well, sir," said the boy, throwing as much of a sneer into the word as he could, "what now?"

"Now we hope nothing turns up trying to eat you."

The boy's eyes widened. "Is that another joke?"

The teen smirked, "Nope."

The boy hesitated a moment, then made a run for the door. He never got there. The teen was super-fast, and had grabbed him before he'd even made contact with the handle.

He screamed again as the teen pulled him back into the room, which made the teen push a hand against his mouth again. "Just… will you shut up?" the teen cried. "Look, if you don't stop running I'm going to have to… tie you up or something…"

That did nothing to stop the boy fighting.

The teen pulled him back away from the door.

"Stop struggling!" the teen kept repeating, "You don't understand what's out there!"

That did little to calm the boy, who tried biting again. The teen growled and then his eyes glowed an unnatural shade of blue. The boy screamed.

"Enough!" yelled the teen, and he dragged the boy to a desk in the corner. Keeping one hand firmly on the boy's arm, he opened the drawer and pulled out duct tape.

"I warned you!" the teen growled, but the boy could barely see straight now, he was so scared. The teen pushed him firmly onto the couch, held him still with a knee and wound a great strip of duct tape around his wrists.

The boy felt ready to pass out from shock.

"Calm down!" The teenager ordered.

"You tied me up!" said the boy.

"To stop you hurting yourself," replied the teen.

"You want me to calm down because you've tied me up and because someone wants to eat me?!"

"Well… yes!" said the teen. "Just… it won't be long! My mom's out there now, she's taking care of everything. You'll be back home soon, back to your parents.

Parents. Mom. The casual way the teen talked about them. The boy bit his lips. He was not gonna cry in front of this teenager. No way.

"Oh, God!" groaned the teen, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" spat the boy.

"Look, it's going to be fine!" said the teen, "Really. We just couldn't leave you out in the woods, not tonight! You're safe so long as you stay inside this house."

They heard a door inside the house creak open.

They both froze. The teen turned. "Mom?" he called.

The boy could hear wind in the trees outside. He could hear the teen's obviously frightened breathing. And he could hear soft laugh coming from the next room.

"What's that?" he asked, suddenly strangely relieved to feel the warmth of the teen still so close to him.

"Wait here," said the teen.

"No!" said the boy, "I want to go home!"

"You can't. It's probably just a breeze or something anyway."

"I've never heard a breeze laugh!"

"It wasn't a laugh, it was just the air moving."

"Yeah, the air moving from someone's lungs as they laughed!"

"Shut up!" snapped the teen. "Stay here, I'm going to see what it is."

"That's a really stupid idea," the boy told him.

"It's probably nothing," said the teen, pushing the boy back down onto the sofa, and because he suspected the teen was more than capable of duct taping him to the sofa, the boy obeyed, even though it was a really stupid idea.

The teen crept to the door of the room and opened it carefully before slipping out.

"A really stupid idea," the boy repeated, because he knew it was a really stupid idea.

His hands still bound in front of him, the boy chose to stand in a corner, hoping that he could hold anything back that approached him with his hands. He could still hear a sound of laughter, shuffling, breathing, but not the teen. He didn't know whether to be pleased or terrified at that. He sunk further into the walls, as close to them as he could manage.

The walls swallowed him.

He screamed, at the top of his lungs as the solid walls on either side of him darkened and enveloped him. He screamed and rushed forward but he was trapped. Solid stone seemed to be pushing in on him, holding him still.

He saw the teen sprint back into the room, his eyes wide.

"Let him go!" the teen shouted.

The boy struggled as the walls wrapped around his body, screaming, writhing. He was lifted from his feet so he used them, too, to kick, even though he knew there was no point kicking walls.

"Let him go!" the teen shouted again, and his eyes lit up blue. And this time, his nails grew too, as Peter's had earlier.

"Are you going to attack me, little wolf-cub?" hissed a voice in the boy's ear.

"If I have to!" the teen growled.

"And do you think you could win?" The voice broke into a laugh, "oh little cub, little cub. I could devour this little human child right now. I could break him apart, I could take him somewhere you would never find him."

The teen growled once more and pounced. At least, the boy thought it was meant to be a pounce. He darted across the room in a gallop on all fours, and then leapt into the air, only to slam suddenly to a stop. The voice behind the boy laughed again, and the teen was launched across the room, to land on a table at a painful looking angle.

The boy fought anew at the sight. He hadn't particularly liked the teen and his threats and tying him up and leaving him alone when there were crazy wall people around ready to attack little boys, but he was far preferable t said wall person who went around and attacked little boys.

"Hush, child. What is your name?" The voice was soft, now, a cool breath in his ear.

"Not telling you!" said the boy.

"Oh, child, I can find it out so easily."

"Yeah, well none of my teachers have learnt to say it!" cried the boy, triumphantly. He'd never really felt having such an unusual name was a good thing, but there was something immensely satisfying at denying the monster that held him anything.

"Hmm, I think I like you," said the monster, "you've got spirit."

"And arms," said the boy, for some reason.

"And a weight of sadness," said the monster, "Here in your heart. I can feel it. You've seen death."

"None of your business!" shouted the boy.

"Who was it? Let me see…"

A hand from nowhere grasped his head, and there he suddenly was, as his beautiful, intelligent, kind wonderful mother, lay on a hospital bed, singing his name. Making him promise to look after his dad. Telling him she loved him more than life.

"No!" he shouted, "No, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Oh my poor child," breathed the creature, "Such loss, so young!"

"None of your business!" he shouted, "get away! It's nothing to do with you!"

"I can take the pain away, little one. I can take you somewhere safe, somewhere you will always be safe; where you'll never need remember this place, this sadness!"

"No!" shouted the boy.

"You'll never need be a burden. You will be mine! Forever. I will keep you, just give me your pledge, give me yourself, and I will take care of you."

"Let go!" the boy screamed, louder.

"Look at me!"

The voice had changed. Where it had been breathy and echoing, it was now soft and gentle, where it had been scary, it now sounded like home, like the voice the boy had thought he'd never hear again, no matter how much he craved.

"Mom?"

"Look at me, sweetheart," said the voice, "turn around."

The wall no longer holding him, the boy still didn't move. He'd seen the light leave his Mom's eyes, he'd seen the doctors rush to her, to try to save her and fail. He'd listened to his father's broken words, the nonsense that told him his mom was dead. She couldn't be here.

"Come away with me," his mom's voice breathed in his ear. "You will be mine, forever."

The boy couldn't stand it any longer. He turned his head.

Another pair of arms grabbed him, lifted him away from his Mom. He yelped in shock.

"You can't take him!" the teen shouted, "He has a family! You can't steal him!"

"I can if he gives himself to me," hissed the boy's mom, now clear to see, all glowing skin and fresh clothes, not like that last time the boy had seen her in the hospital, pale and thin with dark eyes and limp hair. "He doesn't belong to anyone. His mother is dead. There is no one to claim him."

"He has a father!" hissed the teen.

"You want for me to wait for him little teen wolf?" hissed the boy's mom, who even as they watched grew thinner and stranger and taller, "He will grow up. Is sixteen the age boys become men, now?"

"Eighteen, and you still can't take him!" hissed the teen, "Because then he'll be mine!"

"Ha!" cried the creature, "You left him alone to be taken; he is not yours."

"No!" the teen protested, "I'll claim him."

"If he chooses you over me," hissed the creature. "And who would? Look at you, a worthless little beta. Not even strong enough to go on the hunt."

"I will be!" the teen replied, "I'll be strong enough!"

The creature smiled, and crept forward. The boy was limp in the teen's arms, too confused and shocked by this creature that had appeared to be his mother, but now shimmied across the room on legs too long, with skin too clear, with a face too beautiful. "You'll be mine," the creature whispered to him, "Forever. When you turn eighteen."

"No," the teen hissed, "stay away from him!"

The creature leaned in closer, even as the teen tried to escape. "So long," it breathed, and then in the boy's ear it whispered his name, clear and perfect, exactly as his mother would say it. He shivered.

And then the creature was gone, as a crowd of monsters burst in through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks so much if you have read/reviewed/favourited/followed the first chapter. I'm sorry this one took so long, was partly waiting to see what happened in the end of season four. I have now decided to ignore pretty much everything that happened in season 4. Probably.**

**Enjoy!**

When Talia Hale returned with the family and their worried faces, she found her son with his arms around a sobbing child. She had reacted with her usual grace and calm wisdom.

"Hey Derek. Is this a new friend?" she asked her son, crouching beside them and indicating for the rest of her pack to stay back. She didn't ask him to let go. They both looked like they needed each other at that moment.

He nodded, arms still tight and protective around the boy, who only barely lifted his head enough to stare at Talia with fear and worry.

"Hi there," she said, with her best Mom face, "What's your name?" but the boy quickly hid his head back in Derek's chest and didn't answer.

Derek just shook his head and held on.

"OK," said Talia quietly, returning her attention to Derek, "Can you tell me what happened? Why is he here?"

She knew Derek could hear that her heart was beating a bit too fast. She knew about the shape-changing abilities of her quarry; she'd read somewhere that it could steal an image from your brain and recreate it in perfect detail. But she trusted her son not to just pick up a random kid in the woods and cling to him like this. And the boy smelt like a normal, if very sad, little boy.

"It tried to take him," Derek whispered. "We have to protect him!"

Talia frowned. The pack had worked hard to keep the creature within the forest to keep people safe, and the people of the town didn't usually wonder around the preserve after dark. This kid looked very young for a runaway. "I need to know everything that happened, ok? Where you found him, what was said, what it did. Can you tell me everything Derek?"

And Derek did, in hurried words and gasping breaths, and never once letting the boy even an inch away from his body. The boy's wrists seemed to be bound with duct tape, but he didn't even seem to care. He was hiding in Derek's body. And Talia had to tell herself there was nothing adorable about actions born of terror. However adorable the two of them looked.

"Ok," she said, "sweetheart, can you tell me your name?"

The little boy whispered a string of syllables that had no business following each other.

"Right, you might have to write that one down for me," she said, "and can you tell me where you live?"

The boy might have answered, except Derek interrupted.

"He can't go home! We have to look after him!"

Derek was so fiercely loving, he often moved Talia to tears.

"Sweetheart, he has his own family," she said, "he can't just move in."

"It's coming back for him! It's coming to take him! We have to make him ours!"

She stroked her son's head, touched by his caring. "We can't sweetheart, he's a human and..."

"So is Dad!" Derek cried, "So are..."

"His family will want him back," said Talia, quiet and firm, like the strong alpha she was. "They love him and need him, Derek, you can't just kidnap him."

Derek didn't give up, "You could make him a..."

"No!" said Talia, much more strongly than necessary. After Derek's dealings with that Paige girl, he should know better than to suggest that. She would have to have a serious talk to him about that. But not now with a human child crying softly in their living room.

"I'm going take you home, sweetheart," she said quietly. "You need to let go Derek."

If anything, Derek gripped harder. "But it's coming back for him! I swore he was mine, I can't let him go."

"Derek," said Talia quietly, "It won't come back for years. And when it does, we'll be here, we'll help protect him. But until then, he has to have a normal life."

She felt strangely guilty about that phrase. She wanted her children to have a normal life, and for the most part they did. She wanted them to go to college and get jobs and partners and their own children, but one day they would have to choose between those things and the Hale legacy. She had a suspicion she knew which one Derek would go for, and she knew she was putting the whole thing off inexcusably now, at least with Laura and probably with Derek too.

"I won't let you!" Derek shouted. He'd never shouted at her like that. "I have to look after him."

Talia looked at him with surprise. She had not been spoken to in such a tone for years, never had anger like that directed at her by someone she loved, and her first reaction was a swelling of her wolf, only tamed by years of focus. She pushed down her urge to force Derek into submission, and tried again. This time she addressed the little boy.

"Sweetheart, who do you live with?"

She was not expecting that question to make the child sob harder.

"It said his mom died," Derek told her, angrily, like she was impossibly unkind to ask such a question.

Talia ignored him, "Do you have a dad?"

The little boy nodded, rubbing tears and snot into Derek's t-shirt.

"And you want to go home to him, don't you?"

The little boy didn't let go of Derek, but he nodded again.

"He doesn't understand!" Derek snapped, "He doesn't get it! When it comes after him, it'll take him! It wanted him so much!"

"Derek…" Talia protested.

"No, he has to stay with us! He has to! I have to look after him! I have to!"

Talia Hale's beautiful son, alive with the urge to protect, with love and emotion, and Talia still hadn't taught him the pain that came with this life of protection. Thank goodness he didn't have to be alpha.

"I'm sorry," she said, "This is for the best…"

"No its not!" Derek protested, "He's supposed to be here, with us!"

But she wasn't even talking about the boy going home anymore. She caught Derek on the back of his neck with her claws. She'd stolen memories from werewolves before, and even once from Derek and Peter when it became clear that the Nemeton had life once more. But this felt different. That last time, Derek knew what was about to happen and accepted it as an order from his mother and alpha, who loved him and wanted the best for him. This time, she really was stealing, forcing him to do her will, and not even letting him know he'd resisted.

"Peter," she said, as Derek started to droop, "Take Derek upstairs please."

The little boy was still clinging, harder and harder to Derek's top with his bound fingers, but Talia had no difficulty untangling them, as Peter rushed forward to take a hold of Derek's drooping form before he could collapse.

"Far be it from me to question our great alpha," he sneered, in the tone he regularly used to question Talia's judgment, alpha or otherwise, "but are you sure this is wise, Talia?"

"Were you hoping we'd kidnap a little boy, Peter?" she replied, more acidly than she intended.

"I merely meant that disguising the truth from Derek against his will might cause problems in the future," Peter said, "He has issues trusting people as it is."

At that moment, the little boy seemed to realize something was wrong with Derek and started screaming too loudly for Talia to argue with Peter now. "Calm down," she said, "it's OK. We'll come and find you before you turn eighteen, and we'll take care of it. Nothing's going to hurt you."

The little boy didn't seem to hear, he was too busy screaming, so she picked him up as easily as other women picked up babies, and carried him out to the car, as Peter took a firmer hold of the now mostly unconscious Derek and half carried him upstairs, where he would have some strange dreams, but wake up none the wiser that he'd ever met a little boy with an unpronounceable name.

"It's OK, I'm taking you home," she whispered to the little boy in her arms. He seemed about the same age as Cora, and she tried to think what that would mean, what she needed to say to calm him. But Cora never got like this; she was grumpy and shrewd. "We'll see your Daddy in a minute."

She sat him on the passenger side, and then realized his hands were still bound. She sliced the duct tape with a claw, and pulled it gently from his wrists. His screams had abated to gentle sobs, and she looked at him carefully. It would be better if he didn't remember this either. If he went back home talking about monsters and Derek and having his wrists bound, there would be far more questions than the Hale pack could really answer. So she gently cupped his head and smiled at him. "Can you tell me where you live?" she asked, knowing he was going to be very confused as soon as she'd done what needed to be done.

He whispered a street and a house number, and she smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, "you've been very brave you know," she told him.

The little boy looked at her with wide distrustful eyes.

"It's OK," she repeated. She didn't know how many times she'd said that yet. It wasn't OK. When this little boy turned eighteen, his life would be thrown into turmoil. But that was a long way away yet. "I'll be back before you're eighteen, I promise. I'll make sure no one tries to make you go anywhere."

The little boy's sobs had slowed, but he still looked at her warily. "What did you do to the teenager?"

Talia smiled, "I made sure he wouldn't come after you either."

The boy screwed up his nose, "How can you do that? Are you, like, Dumbledore?"

"Something like that," Talia replied.

"Or are you Voldemort?" he said, coldly.

"Dumbledore," Talia replied, "I promise. I look after this town. And I'm going to look after you, too."

The little boy looked at her with his sad, intelligent eyes, and she realized just how recent his misery was. "We're going home. You'll wake up in your own bed."

"Yeah, I'm not sleeping in your car," said the boy, "I'm not three. And you might still be Wormtail or something."

Talia put his age at about seven or eight. "No," she said, "That's fine."

He cried out when she stole the memories from his mind, her claws sinking into his neck with no warning. He would scar, but he wouldn't remember them, and Talia knew no one would ask her about them because they'd be so small, and he was bound to have other cuts from walking through the woods. And even if they did, she'd just claim ignorance.

He sank into the seat, losing consciousness as the car started. He hadn't woken up when she arrived at his house, which was currently surrounded by deputies and their cars. One man was sobbing in the center, shouting at people. She could hear him telling people to find his son, and others trying to calm him down, and tell him what they'd already done, not to worry. He looked at the face to her side, the little boy deep in sleep. She had done the right thing. He was well loved here. He should be allowed a childhood for as long as he could.

People started turning when she got out of the car, and carried the child back to his father.

…xxx…xxx…

Years later, Derek Hale woke up with the whole story dumped in his head. It was a strange feeling, to suddenly remember such strong feelings, such protectiveness of a stranger. An eight year old who had just lost his mother, miserable and lonely, had run into the woods only to find the real life monsters he must have had nightmares about were real and terrifying.

Derek's Mom had stolen the memories and now suddenly they were back. Maybe she really had been that clever, that able to control her alpha powers, that there was a timed return to his brain.

He spent the first ten minutes of remembering raging at his mother. How dare she steal something so important? He could have kept in contact with the kid, could have followed him, made sure he was still local, that they could find him and protected him when the time came. And didn't she feel the kid's misery? He needed someone like Derek looking out for him! He was so skinny and fragile and damaged.

And Peter! He'd known, and never mentioned a word.

Or had he? There had been some cryptic statements in there. About his little friends, about his anger. And teenagers. The kid would be a teenager now. Derek's Mom would have checked the date, when he turned eighteen. It was unlikely to be today, but would probably be within the next month or so. And when he turned eighteen, how long would it take for the creature to come after him? Would it come on the day, or would it take months or years? Was there even a hope that it wouldn't come at all? That it would forget, or not care?

And how was Derek even supposed to protect him now? Had the kid suddenly remembered the house in the woods and the boy who tied him up? He was unlikely to just suddenly trust Derek under those circumstances.

A skinny boy, who'd be turning eighteen soon.

With an unpronounceable first name.

Who could be inexcusably mouthy even when he was scared for his life.

Who he felt oddly drawn to and protective over.

Derek realized it was Stiles.

Derek swore.

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	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hi, sorry taking so long. Will get on with it, just got a block on a bit of chapter 4. So this is a short one while I figure it out.**

**Thanks for reading/reviewing/following etc!**

**Guest who reviewed offering more reviews if I update: I better get a review for speedy service!**

**Apologies for any accidental English slang. ****x**

Stiles was bored.

He was sat in his room, flicking an elastic band between his fingers. Yesterday, his dad had taken all his games and methods of computer gaming away for some minor infringement of house rules. Something about not looking at vital evidence of murder scenes without permission. It was totally unfair. It's not like Stiles purposefully didn't ask permission. He just forgot. That was hardly a crime, was it?

The elastic band sprang off into a corner, and disappeared, and Stiles decided he wasn't going to look for it. He was nearly eighteen. He would find something to do.

He thought about jerking off, but that had been the first four things he did after his Dad had taken the computer. And a significant number of the things he'd done today.

He texted Scott for the hundredth time in the last hour.

He got a reply a few seconds later

'Dude, seriously, on a date!'

'So?' Stiles typed. He considered putting something like 'Bros before hos' but it felt kind of gross and weird to call Kira a ho, when she was actually so great. So he added 'You're always on a date! You need to spend time with the true love of your life – ME'.

Scott's reply took ages, during which time Stiles had discovered five new ways to sit on chairs that no one could possibly have thought of before.

'Dude, I will see you tomorrow. I'm turning the phone off!'

Stiles sent back a sulky 'Some best friend you are!' and dumped it on the desk. He thought about texting Lydia, but suspected she'd be even ruder than Scott.

"My friends are crap," he told the room. The room didn't care.

He saw some sellotape on his desk. He'd used it the day before to re-assemble the notes on the murder scene that his father had destroyed (he hadn't even used a shredder, only torn them up with his hands, so he'd practically invited Stiles to put them back together, and besides, what sort of sheriff didn't shred things?) and now Stiles was very bored. Like, really bored.

He stood his computer chair on his bed and clambered on to it to tape his econ homework to the ceiling.

It didn't look that good, but it was at least funny. And he was intending to blame his father for its unfinished state anyway, so he may as well blame him for the dangling sellotape.

He taped the tape dispenser to the ceiling too. Because it felt ironic. It made him chuckle.

The roll fell out of the tape dispenser and he picked it up, twirling it around his fingers. He felt a bit like a bond villain. The possibilities seemed endless.

He pulled out another strip, and wondered what else could be taped to what.

There was something incredibly tempting about his own wrist.

He put the edge of the tape against the inside, where the veins were closest to the skin. But then his window opened by itself.

"No, nothing!" he cried. He threw the sellotape back onto his bed, and tried to keep his eyes off of it.

"What?" asked Derek as he leaped casually into Stiles' bedroom, as though sneaking into a teenager's bedroom late at night was normal, and wouldn't lead to arrest and his name on a register if he wasn't careful.

Stiles scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual as he stood awkwardly in the middle of his bedroom, and hoped Derek wouldn't notice the sellotape. "I mean, nothing, no, what?"

Derek's eyebrows were really very expressive. "What are you talking about?" he asked, perfectly communicating his confusion and slight annoyance, with just one twitch of his brow.

Stiles scratched his head, "Yeah, this conversation is going nowhere," he said, breezily, "I vote we start again. Maybe with 'Why are you breaking into my bedroom, man of indeterminable age?'"

The tape dispenser fell off the ceiling. With ninja-like precision, (or infuriatingly enviable werewolf-speed) Derek caught it before it hit waist height.

Stiles looked at it, "That… that has nothing to do with the fact that you've climbed into the bedroom of a teenaged boy."

Derek raised his eyebrows, but put the tape dispenser back on the desk without further comment. "Are you OK, Stiles?" he asked, quietly.

"Er, yeah," said Stiles.

"You sure?" said Derek.

"Er, I thought I was until you asked me that," Stiles replied, feeling a bit concerned now.

"OK," said Derek.

He stood, watching Stiles, everything about him still, like a statue of a Greek God, for some reason stood in the center of Stiles' bedroom.

"Er… did you just come by to ask me how I am?" Stiles asked, very confused now, "Because, you know, they invented these things called telephones. They've even got ones you can put in your pocket now, and you can…"

"No!" said Derek, far too quickly.

Stiles raised his own eyebrows, "So… you're in my room because… there's a brand new evil trying to raise hell in Beacon Hills? A rogue wolf? A mythical creature lured here by the nemeton that you have been secretly screwing for the past few months but now someone's pointed out that it's killing people? Because, you know, been there, done that…"

Derek blinked, and his very expressive eyebrows lowered far enough to darken his whole face to the unfriendly state Stiles was used to.

"When did you first meet me Stiles?" he growled.

Stiles scowled back, "Why are you asking me that like you'd ask someone where they were the night somebody's lungs were pulled out through their nose?"

"Just answer the question!" Derek snapped.

"Right, because threats make everybody chatty."

"Stiles!"

"Well, let me think, maybe the same day you met me?"

"Really?" said Derek, "The day you and Scott were wondering around Hale property looking for his inhaler?"

"Er, yeah," said Stiles.

Derek's chin set. "Have you forgotten about how well we hear?"

Stiles' heart definitely crept up then, "Dude, if this is about last night, my Dad had just taken my computer, and there's nothing else to do in here…"

Derek folded his impressive arms and continued to glare, "You knew who I was, Stiles!"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles replied, trying to keep up with whatever the hell Derek was talking about, "I thought everyone knew who you were."

Derek growled, "Stiles, when did you first meet me?"

"Why does it matter?" Stiles protested, and his heart rate crept up further, and Derek could probably smell his deception as he avoided the question.

"When?" Derek repeated.

Stiles raised a placating hand, "Look, dude you really don't…"

"Did you know the whole time?" Derek growled.

"Whoa!" Stiles cried, hands between him and Derek, his ghosts of far too many bruises on his back reminding him not to piss off Derek if he could help it, "Whoa! Whoa! Know what?"

Derek's hands shot forward to Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles repeated his "Whoa!"

"When did you first meet me, Stiles?!" Derek repeated, his fists gripping angrily onto Stiles' shoulders.

"OK, ok!" Stiles replied, "I was there, ok?"

"Where?" Derek growled in his face.

"At your family's house, after the fire. Look, I'm sorry, I was like ten and the baby sitter was sick and Dad was investigating and I was just… you know… looking around."

Derek's face drooped. Stiles carried on talking, because that was his default setting.

"I mean, he told me to stay in the car. He always told me to stay in the car, obviously, but … seriously, dude it was the coolest… I mean the most interesting thing that had ever happened and I was… you know… curious."

Derek was being as infuriatingly hard to read as usual, because, yes, that was a massive invasion of privacy on Stiles' part. But he didn't go for Stiles' throat. But he didn't back off either. So Stiles carried on. Because he was Stiles.

"So, dude, I'm really sorry, if I intruded on your grief or whatever, I just… you know. I'd always wanted to see a crime scene, and, you know before then there never really was anything going on, here, like just a few teenagers daring each other to do shit, and stuff, and … Oh I guess that was because of your pack. Right? Because they looked after the town or whatever … yeah? And then there was this fire and I just… wanted to… see,"

Derek's face was as unguarded as Stiles had ever known it. He still couldn't read it, but it made him stop talking. At least for a moment.

His hands fidgeted. He wasn't sure if he should try to comfort Derek. It would have been hard to tell with a normal person, but with Derek, he probably should go for no. The dude would probably bite his hand off.

"Look, dude, I'm sorry… I just… I'm sorry. When I saw you were there, I left straight away. Went back to the car…"

Derek just stared at him.

"Er… are you… pissed?" He put out a hand, anyway, figuring he might deserve to lose it. "Dude?"

Derek spurred backwards. "If you see anything weird… anything… you call me. Right away."

"Er… sure?" said Stiles.

Derek nodded, jerkily. Then, just as suddenly as he'd arrived, he sprang back for the window.

"Er…"

Derek was gone.

"Bye," Stiles said to the sky outside.

He sat down on his bed, and wondered about whether it was normal for a heterosexual male to be disappointed that this conversation didn't end with him thrown against a wall with an angry werewolf in his face. He fell back on the pillow and looked at the ceiling, feeling shittier about his snooping than he ever had before.

His econ homework fell onto his head.

**(Reviews always appreciated)**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing up til now, guys! I'm loving writing this. Hope to hear more from you! x**

Stiles was nearly asleep before his phone beeped angrily in his ear. It wasn't particularly late, but with nothing to do but have strange, inexcusable fantasies about Derek Hale taping him to a wall, he'd decided an early night was the only solution. The dreams contained Derek Hale and sellotape too, but at least he couldn't make himself feel guilty over them.

He only took a moment in his sleepy, slightly aroused state to figure out what the beep sound was. With a quick grumble to himself, he grabbed his phone and opened the text. Seeing as it was from Scott, he was expecting some sort of apology from his so called 'best friend' for abandoning Stiles to his boredom while he had his cute, perfect teen date. The douche. It didn't contain anything like that, though.

"Emergency theatre now hurry screen 2"

He read it twice before it made sense. When it still didn't, he figured he'd have to go to figure it out. He jumped out of bed and threw on a few more clothes, and sprinted out of the bedroom. Right into his father's chest.

"Stiles!" his father cried, half in surprise, half anger, "What part of grounded don't you get?"

"Dad!" Stiles groaned, "I got a text from Scott! It said…"

His Dad simply crossed his arms, "I don't care if it said his house is on fire, you don't have the ability to heal fatal injuries and you have school in the morning. You are going to bed."

"Dad!" Stiles protested, "You know Scott hasn't the brain power to solve a crossword! He needs me!"

"Bed!" his Dad repeated.

"But Scott needs me!

"Bed!"

"You didn't answer my..."

His dad interrupted, immovable. "Bed!"

Stiles scowled at him, "Your verbal reasoning skills need development!"

"Go to bed!" his dad said this time, with a tired sigh, "or I will lock you in."

Stiles scowled at him, but turned back up to his room. When he got there, he slammed his door and went straight for the window.

It was a long way down. Scott and Derek could jump it without thinking, but they could drop two stories and not even sprain an ankle. Stiles, a hundred and forty seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, may have once played host to one of the most evil creatures they'd ever met, but he was still unfairly breakable. He was going to have to climb.

He sat on the sill and looked down. "Oh my god," he whispered at the ground so far away.

He lowered himself carefully, until only his hands on the ledge held him up. Then he swung enough to the right that he could grab onto the drain pipe. He very nearly missed it, but caught on and clung, breathing heavily for a moment. He shifted his weight totally onto the pipe, and then he began to shuffle down.

He only fell one storey.

He might have landed on his back, making him even less use in a fight, if it weren't for strong arms that caught him easily.

"Derek!" he groaned, angrily, embarrassed, and confused that the werewolf had been hanging about outside his house since he'd seemed to leave ages ago.

"Not exactly," said the voice behind him.

Peter Hale still had his arms around him. Having protected Stiles from a potentially bone-breaking fall, he'd just kept hold.

Stiles squirmed out of the grip.

"Peter, hey," he said. "And not that I'm not grateful for the whole, limiting of the broken limbs thing, but is there are reason you were here?"

Peter smirked, "Do I need to have a reason for saving teenaged boys from certain death?"

Stiles shuddered at the smirk and general creepiness of Peter Hale. "I think certain injury was what would have happened here, not sure it would have been death, but still, yes, you do need a reason to be hanging around outside an underage boy's house. Pretty sure that would be expected. Particularly by my Dad. You know, the sheriff."

Peter seemed remarkably unfazed by the whole rambling sentence. "Does my nephew need a reason, too?" he asked, apparently a master of deflection, "I did see him climb in and out of your window a little while ago, didn't I?"

"Yes!" Stiles replied, firmly, "Yes he most definitely does. He failed to give me a good one, too."

"Failed to give you a good what, exactly?" Peter smirked.

Face reddening, Stiles said "A good reason for sneaking into my room at night. Obviously."

Peter watched him, gaze calculating, making Stiles wonder if maybe he had something to do with Scott's emergency. After a moment, Peter asked, "So, you are claiming you have no idea what Derek would want with a sixteen year old?"

"Er, seventeen!" Stiles protested, "And actually, I'm eighteen in like two weeks!"

"Fascinating," replied Peter, sounding anything but fascinated, "Well, this conversation has been enlightening. Why don't you run along to whatever little crisis you're off to before you bore me to death?"

Stiles gave Peter the look of contempt the creepy evil bastard deserved, "Because I'm not convinced you don't plan to sneak up to my room and start smelling my underwear drawer?"

Peter sneered, "Ah, teenage narcissism. Because when I follow a relative to the house of a teenager, it must be the teenager that I'm concerned about. It can't possibly be that I care whether my nephew is arrested or not."

Stiles realised that Peter was annoyingly convincing when he wanted be. And condescending. He still pointed out; "Derek left hours ago. Why didn't you just ask him?"

"Well, because if Derek had slept with you, he would never have told me," said Peter, conversationally. "And he's considerably better at lying than you."

Stiles found himself shivering. Not at the thought of Derek, of course, but at the look Peter was giving him, like he was trying to read his soul. And because Peter was a bastard for suggesting Derek might have even wanted to sleep with Stiles. "Well, anyway," he said, "this has been great. Let's never do it again, OK?"

Peter didn't reply, he simply watched Stiles with an entertained gleam in his eye as Stiles stumbled over to his jeep. He still had his phone in his back pocket so he checked it for any more news from Scott, before he started the vehicle quickly and pulled out through the dark streets, vaguely wondering if anyone would mind particularly if he ran Peter over by accident on the way.

He drove to the nearest movie theatre, where he assumed Scott and Kira would have gone. They'd gone on a date. Stiles was looking forward to pointing out the massive error that was, as soon as they were sure no one was dead and saying I told you so became fun again. Well, he'd probably say I told you so anyway, but he was Stiles; it was his job to say stuff like that.

He burst through the doors of the complex and ran up to the screen he knew Scott and Kira were in. An usher tried to stop him, but Stiles dodged past (his lacrosse training finally kicking in at a useful moment). The usher followed him, shouting after him, but they both skidded to a halt as they reached the isle between the seats.

"What the hell?" gasped the usher, and Stiles couldn't help but agree.

There was nothing wrong with the theatre. A few people turned as they arrived, scowled at them through the darkness for interrupting the movie, but there was no fighting, no wolfed out Scott or sword wielding foxes, no creatures, no human sacrifices, just normal people sat in a movie theatre.

"What was that, man?" grunted the usher.

"Er… I just really wanted to catch the end?" said Stiles, "of… er… this movie?"

He glanced at the screen hoping to guess the name of the movie, to help suggest truthfulness, but it was just some people looking soppily at each other. So he added, "Yeah, I love a good romance."

The usher glared, "Tickets are fourteen fifty," he snapped.

"Seriously?" said Stiles, "I've missed the first half!"

"Or I could throw you out," said the usher.

Stiles grumbled a bit but dug into his pocket, finding his wallet. "I've only got a twenty."

The usher smirked, "That'll do." He snapped it up out of Stiles' hand, and strolled off, leaving Stiles to the glares of the theatre-going public around him.

"Hey," he whispered to a nearby woman, "Have you seen…"

"Shh!" hissed the woman, glaring at him angrily.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…"

"Shh!" the woman hissed again.

"But…"

"Shhh!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "You know, I'll disturb you less if I find my friend quicker," he mumbled to no one, wondering down the aisle, looking for Scott. Eventually, he saw someone waving at him while trying to be inconspicuous, and going "Sssss, Stiles!"

"Finally!" Stiles hissed back, shuffling along the semi-filled rows toward Scott, who was looking around nervously, and Kira, who was frowning. "What's the big deal? There's like, zero bloodshed, dude. Why did you get me out of bed for this?"

"Look!" Scott hissed, his head jerking around like he was having a fit, as Kira kind of stared into space.

"What am I looking at?" Stiles asked.

"There, look!" Scott repeated, his head still jerking strangely so Stiles decided to check what Kira was actually staring at instead in the hope that would help him a bit more.

The row in front of them seemed to be occupied by a handful of people, mostly looking around at them irritably while trying to watch the movie. Except for one, who wasn't turning; a slim girl, with long, dark, wavy hair, sitting alone a few seats along, and happily watching the movie.

"What?" Stiles repeated. He glanced back at Kira and Scott. Kira was staring, in apparent shock, at that girl, and Scott was looking strained and panic. "What?" he repeated, staring at the girl. Maybe he hadn't noticed fangs or a second head or something. He leant forward in his seat to get a better view, catching a view of her profile to reveal pale skin and delicate features.

Stiles thought that she looked a bit like Allison.

Actually, she looked a lot like Allison. Everything like Allison. Like, even wearing that white shirt and jacket combination from Jackson's party that he remembered because of Scott going on about the jacket in the woods.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

"What do we do?" Scott hissed, panic obvious in his voice.

"Er… nothing?" he said.

"What do you mean nothing?" Scott hissed back at him. "It's Allison!"

"No way. She just looks like Allison, dude," Stiles replied, "Like, a lot like Allison, but… yeah…"

Scott did not look convinced, "Dude, I've spent a lot of time looking at Allison…"

"Yeah, I noticed," Stiles mumbled, rolling his eyes, and feeling Kira squirm uncomfortably beside him.

"And seriously, she doesn't just look like Allison, man; that is Allison!"

Stiles shook his head, "It can't be Allison, Scott, Allison died! You held her as she died!"

"Stiles!"

"It can't be Allison," Stiles interrupted, "she'll turn her head in a moment, and she won't look the same from the other side, and you'll realise she's just another girl with dark hair and pale skin. Look, I'll go check!"

He crept further along the row, apologising to the people he trod on and ignoring Scott's complaints. His feet got stuck to the floor and made gross noises, and the girl who looked like Allison seemed to shift, but Stiles got to her other side with only marginal tuts from other viewers. He reached a spare couple of seats and leaned over those in front to get a better view of the other side of can't-be-Allison's head.

He barely got a moment to look before she turned her full gaze to him.

"Shit!" he hissed with shock and terror.

It was totally Allison. Everything about that girl was Allison. Hair, skin, nose, mouth, eyes, everything. He'd have sworn it was Allison on his life and everyone he cared about's lives too.

"Allison?"

The girl shot out of her seat, and performed some pretty impressive acrobatics to get out of the row. Stiles, in pure shock, was a bit slow to follow. And by the time he reached the far aisle, Scott and Kira had practically run him over.

He picked himself up and followed, not even sure what he was following. Was it Allison's ghost, here to torment Stiles for causing her death, and Scott for moving on? Or was she a zombie with general brain-eating motivations? Or maybe she was like one of the servants of the others from Game of Thrones, part of a massed army of undead poised to invade on their master's orders.

Stiles decided to watch less sci-fi and fantasy in future.

He followed his annoyingly fast moving friends at his own more human pace. The usher seemed far less bothered by him running on his way out of the theatre.

By the time he got to the car park, he could see Scott catching up with the running figure. 'Allison' span back to him just as he was about to grab her, and shoved one hand at his face. He was blown aside, crashing into the side of the building with force. Kira gave up on the chase, instantly, and sprinted to Scott's side, as Allison's eyes met Stiles' across the concrete.

It was looking less like Allison now, its eyes beginning to glow strangely, it's arms and legs growing longer and paler, its whole shape distorting. Stiles' breathing caught with fear. But when it ran, he ran too.

He followed it around the side of the building, ignoring Kira's pleas and knowing she would look after Scott. What he planned to do when he confronted the creature was not really formulated, yet, but he couldn't just let it go. They had no idea what it was, what it wanted, if it planned to wreak havoc or just look like Allison at them until they went mad.

He found himself in an alley between the theatre and the bowling place next door. A girl in a uniform was just opening the door and emerging from the bowling place, looking tired and drowsy, and that was when the creature struck. It jumped on her, pulling her down to the ground.

"Hey!" Stiles cried, "You don't have to hurt anyone, right, I just wanna talk!"

The creature only hissed. Maybe it couldn't talk, in which case Stiles was very curious how it had got past the usher into the movie theatre.

"Let her go," Stiles tried. The girl was dragged unceremoniously to her feet, where she look unsurprisingly alarmed and terrified.

"It's got nothing to do with her, man," said Stiles, "Just let her get back inside and we can…"

The creature snarled. It shoved the girl so hard she flew through the air and landed on Stiles in a heap, knocking them both to the ground. Stiles barely had time to register how much that hurt before his vision went white.

**AN: Reviews make me happy!**

**(Sorry for lack of Derek, but obviously, he'll be back in no time!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Am so sorry, I've been taking forever. I'm still super excited by this story, so don't worry, no chance am abandoning it any time soon.**

**In the meantime, reviews and favourites and follows are still making my days, so thanks for them! I hope you're still enjoying! Looking forward to hearing from you!**

* * *

Stiles awoke flat on his back, which felt like a giant bruise, on a cold hard floor, and with a softly groaning young woman in his arms.

"Eugh?" he said. He'd been aiming for 'Are you alright?' or at least 'you OK?' but failed.  
The girl whimpered.

"S'OK," he said, though he had no reason to think anything was OK.

He tried to look past the mass of hair in his face to check for the creature who had stolen his friend's face and knocked him out, but he couldn't see anyone, and it only took a few moments for familiar feet to sprint down the alley.

"Dude!" cried Scott, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Stiles managed, and aimed for, 'better than you, sleeping beauty,' but his words didn't work. "Girl," he grunted instead.

"Er... hey?" he heard Scott try to the girl, and he must have helped her up because her weight disappeared from Stiles' legs.

"Sorry!" he heard a new voice groan, "I don't know what happened, I think someone grabbed me, but then I was on top of you, and I'm sorry!"

"S'alrigh'" Stiles managed, slowly sitting up, his head aching from where it had hit the ground a little too fast. "Wesho prob' go ... round... troops."

"Whoa!" Scott cried at him, as the sky moved downwards quickly. He felt a hand grab his shoulder, probably saving his head from a second meeting with the ground.

"Is he OK?" gasped the girl.

"I don't know, we should probably take him to the hospital," Scott told her.

"M'fine," mumbled Scott, "Should tell... D'rek."

"What?" said Scott.

"Tell ... Deerk. Noh Peer, Derrk."

"We're going to the hospital, Stiles," said Scott, in his 'I know best because I'm a true alpha however stupid I am' voice.

"I'll follow you," said the girl, "I should... I feel kind of... responsible."

"Nnnn," Stiles protested. She wasn't responsible, the crazy monster with Allison's face was.

"Dude, I can't believe you just went after it on your own! You should have waited!"

"Nuuuh!" Stiles protested, annoyed at Scott's accusation, but even more annoyed that he couldn't answer it.

"Can I help you get him to your car?" the girl asked.

"Don't worry," said Kira, and Stiles had started to think she'd gone home, "we've got him."

"Please!" the girl protested, "I'd like to check he's OK. He tried to save me from a mugger."

Which, Stiles supposed in his slightly drowsy state, was as good an explanation as any for someone who didn't believe in bright lights making face-stealing monsters disappear.

"Did either of you see where they went?" the girl asked. "I didn't see."

"No," replied Kira, cautiously.

"He knocked me out," said Scott, "so we were too slow."

"He knocked you out?" gasped the girl, "oh my god, have you got concussion?"

"Nah," said Scott, and Stiles wanted to punch him and his super-fast healing abilities while Stiles was still sprawling in his arms and groaning.

Kira had managed to get Stiles' arm over her shoulder, and now she and Scott were half carrying him back to the jeep. "Watcha doin? Scottcn car me b'sel"

"He doesn't know what he's saying," Scott told the girl. "Confused, you know?"

"No, you werewo..."

"Haha, haha! Yeah Stiles, you mumble away there, all to yourself."

"Huh?"

"Come on, bro, here's your jeep, get in."

"Jeep."

"No, no, passenger side, dude..."

"No, my jep."

"No dude, no driving, come on."

"You no driving jeep!"

"Come on."

Stiles slid into the wrong side of his jeep. It felt wrong. And Scott getting in the driver's seat felt worse.

"It's OK, dude," said Scott, "Kira's bringing the bike."

Which didn't make Stiles feel better.

He grumbled all the way to hospital, where Melissa checked him for concussion, making comments about the pretty girl waiting for him. Which didn't make any sense.

...xxx...xxx...

Derek was brooding.

Which is a totally different to and more grown up than sulking. Whatever anyone might say, however similar those two emotions may look, Derek Hale was brooding. Not sulking.

And he wasn't avoiding anyone. There was no need, because at no point had he let anyone in on his own private, evil, thoughts about shoving Stiles against any flat surface available, and fucking him until he screamed, so at no point was he about to be arrested for said thoughts. Nor would Scott want to beat him up, or would anyone try to guilt trip or ridicule him. It was OK. Stiles was OK, Derek was OK, and Stiles' virginity remained intact, as did his healthy Derek-related fear. Which Derek wanted. Because it kept him out of a prison cell and allegations of statutory rape.

He had a very cold shower the minute he got back to his loft, and definitely at no point did he let himself think of Stiles' wide eyes, fluttering heartbeat and strong but lithe shoulders and slender hands. Stiles was a child who had taped his things to his ceiling for a laugh. Which was not funny. At all.

When he finally emerged from the shower, he was sure he could still smell Stiles. He sniffed. There was another smell, too, a much less appealing, yet equally familiar one.

"Peter?" he called, because it was far more likely that his uncle had snuck into his loft than Stiles had turned up alone. At least, outside of Derek's fantasy world.

Peter didn't bother to actually reply. Because Peter didn't do raised voices to help other people hear him. He rarely raised it at all these days, though Derek remembered him raising it at Talia back when he was a kid.

"Peter?" he called again, when he reached the bottom of his stairs. Peter still didn't reply, and when Derek looked around, he found his uncle watching him from a relaxed position on the couch.

"Why are you here?" he asked, purposefully not asking why Peter smelled of a teenaged boy he regularly described as annoying.

"Just visiting my favourite nephew," said Peter, quietly, with a smirk.

"Why are you here?" Derek repeated, because he may not always have made the smartest moves, but he wasn't that stupid.

"Derek, I just wanted to know how you are doing!" Peter gasped, as though offended at Derek second guessing him, "Is that so bad?"

"Why are you here?" Derek asked again. Because Peter never made social calls.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Really, Derek, I know it is partly my fault that you are so untrusting, but it is not a good quality. You should work on that."

"Why are you here?" Derek repeated again.

Peter made very un-Peter-like, steady and real eye contact "Is that really the question you want to ask, Derek? Really?"

Derek glared. There was a question on his mind, struggling to make its way to the tip of his tongue. But there was absolutely no way he was asking Peter why he smelled of Stiles. No. No way.  
Peter's smirk grew wider. "You really have no desire to know why I've been talking to one of your little teenage friends?"

Derek's cheek twitched. "Have you?"

Stupid Peter and his stupid brain, knowing exactly what Derek knew and thought all the time, "Oh, Derek, I know who I smell like. Now, I'm massively curious as to why you have gone so far out of your way not to ask."

"Maybe because I don't care?" Derek sneered.

"Of course," smiled Peter, "and if I came in here smelling of Scott or Isaac, you'd be just as impassive, of course?"

"Stiles is not even a wolf," snapped Derek, "why should I care what he does?"

Peter raised amused eyebrows at him. "And I don't just smell like I've been talking to him. I can smell him, all up my front. He may as well have rubbed against me. I cannot believe you're not even a little bit curious."

Derek heard a low growl. Then he realised it came from him. He didn't mind.

"Oh, now we're getting to some honesty," Peter grinned, "You know, all that compressed emotion isn't good for you Derek. If I were someone you trusted, I really would have suggested a bit of counselling, you know? All that hurt and betrayal and misery, all just bubbling away in there…"

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Derek snarled. "Some interesting memories returned to me today."

Peter frowned and put his head to one side, "What memories are those, Derek?"

"About the first time we met Stiles," Derek growled.

Peter hummed and looked convincingly thoughtful for a moment, "I didn't bite him. I let him go. Even later, when I saw how clever he was, when he turned down the bite I still let him go. And I was certainly under the impression that you'd met him before."

"No, I mean the first time!" snapped Derek, "when Mom was alive, we found him in the woods."

And without a flicker in his heartbeat or a tremble in his voice, Peter said, thoughtfully, "I'm sorry, Derek, it's not coming back to me."

Derek glared hard. It was possible Talia had taken Peter's memories as well as his own, but he didn't trust Peter as far as Stiles could throw him. "And you wouldn't tell me if you did, huh?"

Peter's eyes widened, "Derek, I've always acted in what I thought was the best interests of the pack."

"Well, acting in the best interest of the 'pack'," Derek sneered, "Any chance you might know the name of that creature that was after Stiles?"

"Hmm," Peter put his head thoughtfully to one side, "I thought Stiles wasn't part of the pack?"

Derek growled once more, which seemed to do little but amuse Peter. "One day, nephew mine, you must learn to communicate your emotions."

Unable to bear another moment of his uncle's nonsense, Derek rolled his eyes and strolled off.

As if Peter would let him go that easily, "Oh, so you aren't curious where I saw Stiles dashing off to in a hurry, then?"

If Derek hadn't already killed him once, Peter would probably be a bloody mess on the floor by now.

…xxx…xxx…

Apparently Stiles had concussion.

"Yeah, as if you need six years at school and a hundred thousand dollars of debt to tell me that," said Stiles.

"I think it's a mild one though," the young doctor said, "the confusion seems to be passing and there's definitely no impairment to his speech anymore."

"Thanks doc," said Stiles' Dad, before Stiles could say anything about the appropriateness of sarcasm in a doctor.

"I recommend complete rest, and I mean complete rest, no school, no homework, no computers, no cell phones, nothing that will cause mental or physical exertion."

"So me grounding him for the next three years comes with medical approval?" his dad commented.

"Hilarious," said Stiles.

"Well, the concussion itself should pass within the week," said the doctor, "if you have any further symptoms, please return as quickly as possible. It is important that "Stiles" isn't left alone for long periods of time."

The way the doctor seemed to pronounce the quotation marks around his name made Stiles snort. And almost miss the point of the sentence.

"Hey, what?" he demanded.

"Total rest, Sheriff," said the doctor, ignoring Stiles, and wondering out of the room, apparently to other patients, or possibly to shove his head in an oven, Stiles didn't really care.

"Eugh!" Stiles said.

"Total rest," the sheriff repeated.

"Dad!" Stiles moaned.

"You're getting no sympathy from me, kid," his dad told him, "I told you to stay in."

"But Alison was there!"

"Someone who looked like Alison," his dad corrected.

"No! Really, Dad, it was Alison!"

"Stiles!" his dad groaned, "what did you expect to do about it if it was?"

"I don't know!" Stiles replied angrily.

"Then you were stupid, Stiles! Stupid to go in the first place, and even more stupid to follow her!"

"Dad…"

But the sheriff was not letting Stiles get a word in, here, "No. You were stupid, and if you think I'm going to sit back and let you get yourself hurt again, or possessed by another evil creature or killed…"

"Dad, if we don't …"

"Not you, Stiles!" his dad, shouted. "Scott, Derek, Isaac, they all heal, they're all strong and powerful and can be stabbed through the heart and shot and not even need to see a doctor! You are human! I will not let you put your life at risk!"

"Dad…"

"No, Stiles!" His dad's face was red, blotchy, and angrier than Stiles had ever seen it. "That's it. No more Scott, no more supernatural. You just go to school, then you come home, then you do normal stuff, like homework and computer games and … pornography."

"Dad!"

"No! That's my final word, Stiles! No more!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, and let his head drop back onto the pillow. His dad could order whatever he wanted, Stiles was hardly going to listen.

But his dad wasn't completely stupid, "And I'll be talking to Scott and Derek about it too. I'm sure they'll agree with me."

Stiles gave his dad a final glare. But there was no way Scott would listen. Scott needed Stiles and he knew it. He turned to Stiles about everything. And Derek had done the same more than often enough.

"Just the man!" his Dad cried, suddenly.

Stiles turned to the door and saw Derek walk in, face dark and body stiff. He was glaring at Stiles with his usual hatred, and Stiles felt a surge of relief that Derek was never going to insist on Stiles say safe. He would never care whether Stiles was alive or not.

"Did you hear what we were talking about?" Stiles' dad asked.

Derek nodded, coldly, eyes still glued to Stiles.

"Talk some sense into him, Derek," said the sheriff, "please. I'm worried about him."

Derek nodded again, and Stiles' dad gave Derek's shoulder a squeeze, before excusing himself.

Stiles folded his arms. "Yeah, don't worry. No way I'm leaving the safety of this town to Scott, you and your creepy uncle megalomaniac."

Derek merely glared.

So Stiles said, "My dad's just worked up. He'll get over it."

Derek folded his arms. "I told you to call me if you were in danger, Stiles."

"Er, I wasn't in danger," said Stiles, "well, until, you know, I was unconscious. But that was only for like, a second…"

"Your dad's right Stiles," said Derek, "You put yourself in too much danger."

"So do you!" Stiles protested.

"But I heal!" said Derek, "You're breakable."

Stiles folded his own arms right back, "I'm the only one of the lot of you with a brain!"

"Stiles…" Derek began, but Stiles wasn't about to let him pretend they wouldn't all be dead if it wasn't for Stiles.

"I'm the one who figured out about the human sacrifices! I was the one who figured out how to stop the nogitsune."

Derek's eyes flashed, "And you are the one who nearly died."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, "Like you did when I was holding you up in the pool that time?"

Derek sighed, "That was when Scott didn't trust me. We're a pack now. I can't let you put yourself in danger, Stiles."

"Oh come on!" Stiles shouted.

"You need to get better, Stiles," Derek told him, assuredly. "Go to school, get a good job, and forget about all this. Stay away from anything that isn't normal. It's too dangerous."

"No way!"

"You're not a wolf, Stiles. You're not part of the pack, and you're not going to be."

"Derek!" Stiles protested, feeling worse than he had all night, including waking up with a concussion. Actually sick to his stomach.

"If you see anything unusual, anything that might not be normal, you walk away from it!" Derek instructed in a voice that allowed no argument. "You got that? You walk away, run if you must, and you call me."

Stiles tried to pretend that this didn't feel like someone was tearing his heart open, "Seriously?" he grunted.

Derek was merciless, "You stay away from pack business. The second you see anything unusual, you call me."

"Scott will…"

"I don't care," Derek snapped. "You're a human. Stop pretending your anything else."

Stiles was momentarily speechless.

Derek shifted uncomfortably.

"Get well soon," he mumbled. Then he strolled off, back out of Stiles' room. Leaving Stiles alone in a hospital and feeling like shit.

**AN: Would love reviews from anyone! x**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thanks everyone who is reading and once again apologies for tardiness. Here is a shortish chapter, but you hope still enjoy. Comments always welcome and adored.**

**Warning; there is a character who may appear to be a Mary-Sue. I promise she is not a Mary Sue. Though she may look and smell like one right now.**

* * *

Derek wanted to go home and chain himself to his apartment somehow so he would not be able to go back and beg for Stiles' forgiveness. And more.

The teenager had looked so forlorn at Derek's words that every bone in Derek's body wanted to wrap him up tight in his arms, and protect him from the world. Derek had to remind himself that he was doing this to protect Stiles from the real evil things in the world that really could kill him. If Stiles avoided anything supernatural, he was less likely to be hurt, which was, at the end of the day, the thing that mattered the most.

He could avoid Stiles for a while. Scott and the sheriff would undoubtedly be sticking to him like glue for a while, looking out for him and caring for him, so it would be easy to keep away. Totally easy. Stiles would be safe. Derek had no reason to visit him

"Hey Derek," the Sheriff greeted, as Derek was trying to sidle out of the hospital without being noticed, "How did it go?"

In lieu of saying 'I think I just tore out your son's heart with my bare hands,' Derek settled for a shrug.

The sheriff sighed. "Maybe I overreacted."

Derek didn't reply. He didn't want to point out that he was pushing Stiles away from the pack and the supernatural for his own reasons. He thought for a moment about confiding in the sheriff about the creature. Maybe, if they were all on their guard… but maybe what? They could see the creature coming? It had taken no pains to hide its presence from Talia last time. No, telling the sheriff would only terrify him. Or not. 'There's something after Stiles. I don't know what or if it'll ever show or if it was just winding me up.' The Sheriff's belief had come a long way over the past few years, but that far? Was there any way of telling the story and making it sound rational?

And as for telling Stiles the truth, there was no way. The kid was seventeen and had been through enough. He didn't need to know he was possibly the next victim of… well, who knew what? Derek wasn't even sure what it wanted Stiles for. A sacrifice? A companion? Entertainment? A sex slave?

"Is it possible that we've got a zombie Allison on our hands, Derek?" the sheriff asked, with his 'dear God, please don't let this be true,' expression.

"I'll look into it," said Derek.

"Thanks, Derek," said the sheriff, "and, I'm sorry to ask, but I need another favor."

"Yeah?" said Derek. Sniffing out the culprit or something would probably be a good distraction.

Stilinski ran a tired hand over his face, "I don't want to leave Stiles alone for a while, but I've got to go into the station eventually, and Scott's got school and I was wondering if maybe you could spend a couple of hours with him tomorrow? Just to make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anything."

"What?" Derek snapped.

The sheriff didn't seem to think this was anything unusual to ask, "Just, make sure he's not jumping out of windows or, you know, starting an international incident or something. You know. Like babysitting but with better conversation. Well, I say better conversation… maybe I mean, more complex conversation? Or less sensible conversation. I don't know."

Words stopped working for Derek. "Why would… why… me?"

The sheriff shrugged, now slightly awkward, "I just thought, you know, with you not … I mean, I have to go to work, Melissa too, and the kids all have school and… I mean, if you're busy, just say, but… you know…"

Derek blinked and tried to think of an excuse.

"I should really go check out the scene," he said, "look for… whatever it was."

"Yeah, and I appreciate it," the sheriff told him, "but will that take all day? I mean, when we were looking for Stiles, you just stood on that roof and told us everything he was thinking…"

Derek frowned. He'd just ordered Stiles to stay away from him and anything the pack was up to. He'd ripped everything that made Stiles light up away from him, and Derek hadn't been able to stand that gaze of hurt for a full minute. How could he survive hours?

"It would really help us out, Derek," said the sheriff. "I've been pushing the boundaries on leave for years with that kid since …" Stilinski's face scrunched up a moment in pain, "well. I can't take any more if I can help it."

Derek nodded, jerkily. He understood the expression on Stilinksi's face. Derek used the same one whenever he got close to talking about his family but couldn't actually get there. But Stilinski didn't take it as understanding. He took it as agreement.

"Thanks, Derek. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Derek's eyes widened, but somehow he couldn't take it back. After all, he couldn't leave Stiles all alone when the boy was concussed and possibly in enormous danger. So Derek nodded again, and strode off into the darkness. He had some sniffing to do, and a zombie Allison to trace. He sent a quick text to Scott, asking for the details, and waited in his car for the reply, trying to avoid anyone else, and the thought of Stiles' disappointed eyes.

* * *

Stiles felt like he was only sat alone in his hospital room for a few minutes before there was a gentle, nervous tapping on the door. It might have been longer, but being more furious and bitterly disappointed than you've ever been can make time meaningless.

"Hi?" said a girl's voice from the other side of the door. "Can I... you know... come in?"

"Er..." Stiles checked he wasn't displaying anything he shouldn't be in his hospital gown, "Yeah."

"Thanks," said the girl's voice, and a girl appeared at the foot of Stiles' bed.

"Er, hi?" she said, nervously biting her lip.

"Hi," said Stiles back, waiting for her to explain her business.

The girl laughed, nervously, and pointed at herself, "Sorry, I'm, er, Chloe."

Stiles looked at her quizzically. "Hi, Chloe, I'm..."

"You're Stiles!" said Chloe, then she laughed and blushed. "Sorry, I just meant that I know, you know? I've just been sat out there for a few hours. Not in like, a stalker way, obviously, I just ... I didn't want to leave until I knew you were alright. I mean, I know your dad was here, and your... tall, angry friend, but... I just... you know?"

Stiles stared at her a moment longer, "Er, sorry, Chloe, I... who are you?"

"Oh!" gasped Chloe, looking thoroughly alarmed at the question, "Sorry! I'm... my name is Chloe, I work at the bowling alley..."

It clicked in Stiles' brain, and he wondered why his brain had gotten so slow. Then he decided it was because of the concussion, "Oh you were..."

Chloe nods and interrupts, nervously, "Yeah, I was just going on a break and someone, you know, grabbed me, and then I was on top of you and giving you a concussion and... I'm really sorry, Stiles. Really!" Chloe wrung her hands, worriedly, "I never would have landed on you on purpose! It was all too fast, I didn't know what was happening, and then I was on top of you and you were hurt and..."

"Hey, hey, it's OK," said Stiles, interrupting because he feared for Chloe's word to breath ratio, "not your fault."

Chloe didn't seem to hear. Or she just couldn't stop the flow now she was going. "And that nice nurse with all the hair, you know, she said you had a concussion, and I felt awful and..."

"It's not your fault," Stiles repeated, "really. Trust me on that."

"I'm just... sorry," the girl added, lamely, stepping sideways uncertainly and knocking over a chair. "Sorry!" she added, picking it up again, and looking at him with mild panic. "And thank you!" she added, hurriedly. "For, you know, running after the mugger. I thought it was very brave."

"Yeah, my dad says it was stupid," said Stiles. It still stung a little.

"Ah, he's just worried, because he loves you," said Chloe, "And do you not have a mom?"

"She died," said Stiles, "Years ago. Don't worry, I'm not gonna start crying or something."

"Yeah, mine too," said Chloe. "And I cry about it a lot, so, you know, don't need to pretend for me."

"Oh," said Stiles, feeling both a strange sense of companionship and a little awkward, "it sucks, doesn't it?"

Chloe laughed, sadly, "Yeah, totally sucks," she said. "But I got my grandma and my dad, they're great. I just meant, it'd make him worry more, you know? Having lost someone so important already."

Somewhere inside, Stiles knew this. And he'd started down that thought process himself plenty of times. But that didn't mean he had to hide from the world in case he got scratched. "Yeah, my dad's awesome," said Stiles, "when he's not grounding me forever for no good reason."

Chloe smiled, "He seemed really nice." She suddenly widened her eyes, "I mean… not in a, god your dad's hot, way. I mean, not that he isn't hot, I mean for his age he's very… I mean of course he isn't hot, I don't find him hot, I just mean…"

Chloe was as red as a beetroot, and didn't seem able to look at Stiles, but Stiles was laughing. This girl was awesome. She had Stiles' foot in mouth disease.

"It's OK, I get it," he said, with a grin. "Well, I don't get it, I mean, that would be weird, but it's cool. You're allowed to have a thing for my dad."

"Oh my god!" cried Chloe, and she hid her face in her hands. Stiles could only laugh again. It was adorable.

"Don't worry," Stiles repeated, "I say stupid things sometimes, too."

Chloe peeked at him through her fingers, "How long does it take you to live down the embarrassment?"

"I prefer to learn to live with it," Stiles confided, "If you do it enough, eventually you don't just cope, you actually begin to revel in it."

Chloe laughed. "Oh my god! I'm so embarrassed. I was only going to ask if I could ... you know... thank you, or something? I was thinking maybe... coffee?"

"Er..." Stiles was momentarily speechless. Years of blindly adoring Lydia followed by months of never-to-be-mentioned-ever-even-to-best-friend fantasies of older men who happened to be werewolves made being actually asked out by a nice girl a very unexpected turn of events.

"I mean, I think I might be a couple of years older than you, but it's only coffee, and I thought, maybe, you know, you might score some bragging rights? Or something? Not that I think I'm some sort of catch, obviously, I don't mean you'd be bragging about me, like that, obviously, I just thought... I don't know what I thought. Forget it. It was a stupid idea. You probably have a line of beautiful girls who can't wait to get into your pants. Not that I think you're some kind of man slut, obviously, I mean, I bet you turn away lots. Not that you're a tease! No, I mean… Look, I'm just turned twenty one, so I have ID. I could just buy you alcohol! Except, don't tell your dad I said that."

"Chloe, we can for coffee," said Stiles.

Chloe was looking completely terrified now, "Really? I didn't scare you off? Even when I accidentally called you a man slut?"

"Not even a little bit," said Stiles, "You know I'm seventeen, right?"

"Oh," said Chloe, "Er... that's younger than I thought. But... it's only coffee, right?"

"Right," said Stiles.

Chloe fidgeted with the edge of the chair she'd knocked over, "I mean, I can buy you coffee, it doesn't mean you have to sleep with me or... I mean, no one has to sleep with anyone. We're just two new friends, going for coffee, because one saved the other from a mugger."

"So, I'm eighteen in two weeks," said Stiles, carefully.

"Oh," said Chloe, a very different type of 'oh' this time. Far more positive. "That's... cool. Er... do you want my number?"

"Sure," said Stiles.

They swapped numbers, with only minimal social embarrassment on either side this time, and then Melissa came in and ushered Chloe out, claiming that Stiles needed sleep. Stiles disagreed. The last thing he wanted to do was analyze how a pretty girl had asked him out for coffee and all Stiles could think of was trying to piss off Derek Hale.

**AN: Reviews are appreciated. Again, I promise she's not just a Mary Sue. Comments?**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Just in case you're getting confused who this story is really about...**

**(Warning: sexual content of a kinky nature)**

Stiles' dad took him home from hospital the next day. Stiles wasn't talking to him because he had been a dick the day before. More than once. He had basically held up a huge sign saying 'I don't trust you, Stiles,' and then told Derek to do the same thing, so Stiles saw no reason to be nice to him.

"You OK, kid?" his dad kept asking.

Stiles didn't reply. He just stared out of the window of the cruiser, arms folded.

"So, I guess you're looking forward to sleeping in your own bed, huh?" his dad said in his companionable voice.

Stiles didn't reply.

It was really hard. He had so much he wanted to say, so many sarcastic responses. He was actually biting his lips.

His dad shifted in the driving seat, "You eaten?"

Stiles just about managed to hold in a response about hospital food and vomit.

"Huh," said his dad, "not talking to me."

"Obviously," said Stiles.

His dad smirked, and Stiles stropped a bit more.

"I get it," his dad said, "you're mad that I've grounded you."

Stiles refused to answer that. That was just stupid. Grounding was nothing like the problem here.

"Do you see why I was angry, Stiles?"

"Because you're being stupid!" Stiles replied.

"Stiles," said his dad, voice warning,

"Sorry, but it's true!" Stiles told him, "I basically went for a run and fell over!"

His dad sighed, "Stiles, you were possessed by an ancient Japanese demon."

"Not recently…" Stiles protested.

"Stiles! I'm your father, I'm allowed to worry about you," his father argued, frustratingly reasonably.

But Stiles wasn't ready to be reasonable. He gave his father his best glare, "Seriously? You're the sheriff! There are literally songs about you getting shot!"

"I'm not going to get shot," said his dad.

"And I'm not going to get possessed by an ancient Japanese demon, again!"

"Stiles!"

"Dad!" Stiles mimics.

"Just… just…" The sheriff sighed, sad and tired, "Just stay home today, stay out of trouble, let yourself get better, and we'll have a chat about this when we've both calmed down, OK?"

"You calm down," Stiles muttered.

"Stiles!"

They pulled into their drive, and Stiles leapt out.

The sheriff rolled his eyes at him, "Stiles, you're recovering from concussion! Slow down!"

Stiles walked the rest of the way to the door in slow motion.

His father played him at his own game and walked into the house letting the door shut behind him.

"Dad!" he groaned, making the rest of the journey to the steps in three strides. His dad opened the door, but didn't bother checking if he followed him in. "Go to bed," the sheriff called from the kitchen, and, after reminding himself that his dad was probably only trying to look out for him, Stiles obeyed. Except he'd been asleep most of the night, but for the few times he was woken by nurses, so he was not at all sleepy. He stared at the ceiling and thought about the monster with Allison's face.

A zombie had sprung to mind already. Except it had been a good few months since Allison died, and Stiles didn't want to think of the state her body would be in now. But the creature he'd met hadn't smelt. She'd been sat in a movie theatre surrounded by people who hadn't thought anything was wrong.

So, what did that leave? Any hope that he'd had that Allison somehow hadn't died, or was somehow haunting the movie theatre had fallen apart when she'd dashed Scott against a wall and thrown an innocent bystander at Stiles. So he was going with some sort of shape shifter. Something that could take on the face of someone who had died. Like The First from Buffy.

He needed the computer. He had to research, to check out the bestiary. Except his dad still hadn't given back the computer. When everyone had calmed down and started looking at this like reasonable human beings again, he'd have to somehow get access to the bestiary on his phone. In the meantime…

He text Lydia.

"Any luck on creatures that can steal faces?"

It took a few minutes for her to reply. He'd spent the entire time staring at the screen of his phone, open on the text conversation.

"Concussions happen when your head is hit hard enough that your brain moves inside your skull. Rest."

Stiles moaned to himself about Scott and his far too quick communication, and replied to Lydia: "Come on! I'm basically fine, they're just being over-cautious."

Lydia's reply took less time.

"And I'll tell you what I find out tomorrow. Rest."

"Lydia, please!" Stiles tried.

"No," Lydia replied.

"Lydia, you are the most incredibly…" he started typing.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Lydia texted before he had finished, before sending one more text saying just "Rest."

Stiles rolled his eyes, and threw his phone down on the bed to stare angrily at the roof once more.

He'd barely been there a minute before his dad's head popped around the door,

"Stiles, I've got to go to the station, you gonna be OK?"

He tried not to look pleased by that, or like he was planning escaping and or searching for his computer the second his father was gone, "Yeah, sure," he said, casually as he could manage.

His dad didn't fall for it. "Yeah, don't get too excited. I've got a friend popping in to check on you later."

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles sighed. Of course. It would probably be one of the old ladies down the street, or maybe Melissa on her way home from a shift.

"No computers, so television, no reading, no school work, no physical exercise and no investigating the supernatural while I'm gone."

"Oh my god! What am I even supposed to do all day?!" Stiles cried.

"Rest," said his dad, "I love you, son."

"Love you too," Stiles replied, sulkily. Because they had promised each other they would never leave on an argument. And he did love his dad.

But he was bored before he even heard his dad leave the house.

He lay still for another few minutes, fidgeting. How did people who didn't work or go to school pass the time? He was bored stupid already.

He thought about what Derek would be doing. As far as Stiles could tell, the guy didn't' have a job. Maybe he considered looking grumpy a full time profession, after all, he'd got it down to a fine art. Or maybe he just hung about his loft, working on his already perfect abs. Not that Stiles looked at his abs, obviously. That would be weird.

Nope, he never stared at Derek's ridiculously spectacularly physique. Not just because of the obvious and serious damage such an activity would cause to his already practically extinct sense of self-esteem (he was a pale and skinny guy, he did not need thoughts of perfect muscles haunting him all the time) but also because of the equally obvious and serious heterosexual, totally-and-completely-in-love-with-perfect-genius-red-headed-girl-his-own-age-since-they-were-in-third-grade nature of his own thoughts which had no interest in the perfect muscles of other men.

Stupid perfect muscles, that Stiles never, ever, ever felt the urge to bite.

Seriously Derek's muscles were scary. Who had muscles like that outside gay porn? Or a prison movie? Derek didn't even need them! He was a frigging werewolf! He was ten times as strong as anyone else, even if he didn't spend twelve hours a day working out.

This trail of thought should have taken Stiles onto thinking about all the dangerous people they'd met, and how Derek had need every muscle to fight for them and the people that mattered to them.

Instead he kept thinking about how much stronger Derek was than him. Those biceps, triceps and shoulders could lift Stiles without breaking a sweat. Derek could throw him around like a rag doll. He could pin him…

Stupid, treacherous, confused penis. It was supposed to be Lydia in a swimsuit that made it react like that, not Derek come-and-go-eyebrows Hale! That was how it had always been before. None of this finding men hot crap. He never wanted Jackson to pin him to a flat surface! Never wanted Danny's tongue down his throat. Much.

So Derek Hale glaring down at him as he shoved him forcefully against a wall was not appropriate fantasy material. No. Never,

Why didn't his stupid penis agree?

He was frigging cursed!

He imagined Derek Hale throwing him against a wall.

'What are you doing here, Stiles?' he would growl, one step from wolfing out.

'Saving your ass!' Stiles would reply, smug even as his heart raced. Because he was always saving their stupid werewolf asses.

'You could have gotten yourself killed!' Derek would growl.

'Like you care!' Stiles would sneer back.

Derek would be so pissed he'd only be able to growl at that. Animalistic, and raw and sexy as hell.

'Admit it, you'd have been fucked without me!' Stiles would sneer, with un-Stiles-like confidence and poise, that he was totally allowed to have in his own fantasies.

And Derek would lose it and drag Stiles off the wall.

'Get off!' Stiles would shout.

'I can't let you get hurt!' Derek would growl.

'What are you gonna do?' Stiles would demand, unable to resist that strength, knowing that he was a Derek's mercy.

Derek would shove him down onto his own bed, pull out some duct tape. 'I'm gonna keep you where I can always know you're safe,' he'd reply.

And, God, Stiles was gonna have to tie himself to the bed again, because this fantasy…

He groped around the table for the sellotape from the other night. He found it soon enough, and made a loop around his left wrists, then another about his right.

He would squirm as Derek wound the tape around his wrists. And then Derek would stop and stare. Then he'd put a gentle hand on Stiles' face, meet Stiles' gaze with those intense sad eyes of his, except for a moment his sadness would be eclipsed by something else.

Stiles' mouth would go dry, and he'd have to lick his lip carefully, and ask 'What are you doing?'

Derek's face would get closer and closer, his eyes dropping down to Stiles' lips. 'Stiles,' he'd whisper.

'Derek,' Stiles would gasp back.

Derek would run a strong hand through his hair. "What are you doing?"

No wait, that wasn't right. Derek would lean forward and say…

"Stiles? Stiles! What are you doing?"

Stiles opened his eyes.

Derek Hale was in his bedroom.

"Holy…" Stiles shouted, and sprang from the bed. Or would have if his pants weren't around his knees.

"Fuck!" he shouted as he dropped gracelessly to the floor. He shoved his hands out to steady his fall, but they were wrapped in sticky tape, so he ended up rolling over until he landed in a messy heap with his face against the carpet.

"Shit," he added when he came to a stop. Then tried to style it out. "Hey Derek," he said, then blew some carpet fluff off his lower lip. "I was just … er… practising escapology."

Derek didn't say anything. He just stared at Stiles.

"You know," said Stiles, "in case I get captured by some… sellotape wielding… pant monster…"

Derek stared.

"So… what are you doing here?" Stiles asked, still lying on the floor, still trying to pretend like this was not the most humiliating experience of his life.

"Your dad asked me to drop in to check on you," said Derek, coldly.

"Right," said Stiles, "course, because of the old… head… stuff…"

Derek didn't seem keen to talk more. So Stiles continued.

"So this escapology stuff, it's not as…"

Derek turned around and left the room.

"Yep," said Stiles, "that's… yep…"

He rolled over. The ceiling was too far up to knock himself out with. The floor refused to swallow him up.

"I'll just… get myself unstuck," he told the ceiling.

Derek didn't reply.

**AN: Reviews are adored...**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: You've all gone a bit quiet... I do love reviews because they let me know people are still reading, even if you just want to tell me what's wrong with this story. I love people who take the time to let me know they're reading.**

Derek had nearly walked straight out the door before his brain had started working again. What the hell had he just seen?

A rational part of his brain told him exactly what he had seen. And it was not a kid practicing escapology. It was a beautiful young man having a fantasy in which the word 'Derek' fell from his lips.

Or had it? There were probably other words which sounded like Derek that he might have misheard. And he was hardly the only Derek in the world. Was there a character in some TV show called Derek? Or was there a baseball player too? Or maybe it wasn't Derek, maybe it was another word, like thick? Quick? Mick? There were loads of possibilities. Though, he did have pretty amazing hearing.

He'd only gone in because he thought Stiles had called him. He'd knocked on the front door, let himself in with the key Stilinski had left for him, and called up. He'd been certain he'd heard his name, so he'd gone in without knocking. Only to find Stiles, eyes closed, face dreamy, body stretched out…

He was going to need a cold shower if he thought about that again.

But he couldn't leave. Stiles might decide to follow him. Or throw himself out the window from embarrassment (like he could be more embarrassed than Derek right now!). He'd agreed to look after Stiles, so look after Stiles he had to do.

Well, agreed might be overstating it. Managed insufficient protests at the idea of looking after Stiles might be closer to reality. But that didn't change the fact that Stiles was recovering from a head injury, and Derek had let the Sherriff think he was keeping an eye on him.

He hoped he could interpret that as being in the same house.

As he took a very un-relaxed pose on the couch in the living room, he heard Stiles scrambling down the stairs, and winced a little at the sheer potential for more danger if the kid didn't learn to walk properly soon.

"Hey, Derek," said Stiles, not quite making eye contact as he lunged into the living room doorway. "So… thanks for coming over and everything, but I don't need a… babysitter. I bet you got lots to do. You don't need to … hang around."

That probably made it less likely that the word he'd heard had been Derek, but didn't change the facts.

"Your dad asked me to stay with you," he told Stiles, also not quite making eye contact.

"Weeell," said Stiles, drawing out the word in a would-be playful way, "you know my dad, he worries. No reason. I'm fine. Demonstrably fine. Look, no new head injuries."

Derek snorted. He'd got very close to one a few moments ago while doing the relatively simple task of coming downstairs.

But Stiles either didn't hear or ignored him, "So, no need to hang about. You go… do… whatever it is you usually do when we're at school. Hang around outside it, or something…"

"Your dad asked me to stay with you," Derek repeated.

"Seriously?" said Stiles.

Derek nodded.

Stiles made some huffing and sighing noises. Maybe he thought about other arguments he might use to persuade Derek to leave. But he gave up soon enough and crashed down on the other end of the couch.

There were a few minutes of awkward silence.

"So, what we gonna do?" Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. He'd tried to think of that on the way over, but failed.

"Because, you know, I can annoy you to death, you know," said Stiles.

Derek couldn't answer that without giving himself away, so he just glared at Stiles.

"Yep," said Stiles happily, "I can literally talk until your ears fall off."

Derek frowned hard because otherwise he might laugh.

"Judging me with your eyebrows won't help, you know," said Stiles, "I'm assured I'm very annoying."

Annoying. Stiles should be very annoying. Maybe he had been when he was sixteen, before Derek had realized how funny he was, before he'd become the spark of light in Derek's dark and miserable world. No way was he about to call Stiles' bluff, but he would never annoy Derek to death, he could only talk him into smiling. Or worse.

Derek scowled a bit more to make up for it.

Stiles turned on the couch until he was facing Derek, on his knees with obvious energy that Derek knew meant he wasn't stopping any time soon, "Yep, I can sit here and talk to you about nothing until you want to chop your ears off. Which wouldn't help, because they'd probably just grow back again, what with whole werewolf super-healing thing, and then I'd still be talking, and you'd have to chop them off again. I think it would just get messy after that. You'd be stuck in an ongoing cycle of horrible pain and there'd be ears all over the floor, and I'd still be talking…"

"Stiles," Derek snapped, "why are you talking about chopping ears off?"

Stiles shrugged, "You know you need to give it up, right? I'm gonna get my way."

"What?"

Stiles looked at him stubbornly, "So, I've ruled out zombie Allison, how far did you get?"

"Stiles!" Derek groaned.

Stiles crept closer, gesticulating with his hands, "Because zombies that old would be smelly, right? But it can't actually be Allison but ghostly or something because no way would Allison try to brain Scott like that, or throw some innocent girl at me, so I'm thinking some sort of face changing monster…"

Face changing monster, sounded far too close to home for Derek. "I'm not discussing this with you Stiles…"

Stiles didn't seem to care, "So, there's this bird, right, that can mimic other birds. Like perfectly. It's called they lyrebird, and it can even sound like a chainsaw and a cell phone, because it can make any sound it hears. So maybe there's some creature like that? Like they can copy someone's face so well that even former boyfriends who spent hours mooning over said face believe it actually is that person. Only, Google isn't up on what mythical creatures are actually real and what aren't, so…"

Derek shook his head, "I told you to stay away from this, Stiles!" he growled.

Stiles snorted, "Yeah, like that was gonna happen! So have you been to the alley? What did you smell it? Could you trace it? Scott's being all 'I'll tell you when you haven't got concussion,' but seriously, do I sound like I have a concussion? Do I look like I have a concussion?"

"Stiles!" Derek growled, "Listen to me!"

Stiles was unfazed, "Er, if you try and ban me from investigating the supernatural stuff in this town again, just remember, it won't work."

"I'm not going to let you…" Derek began

"Ha!" Stiles cried, "As if it's your choice! Last time I looked, Scott was the alpha, and he comes to me when he doesn't know what's going on, which is pretty often, if you haven't noticed. I know you hate me, but you're just gonna have to get used to me being around. I'm working on this whether you like it or not."

Derek's eyebrows flew up at that. "I don't hate you," he said, without thinking.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Yeah, alright, so you think I'm an annoying little shit, but I'm a clever annoying little shit, and Scott needs me, which means you need me."

Derek should not be impressed by Stiles right now. He should just be annoyed. But no, he was impressed and concerned and nothing else.

"We'll deal with it," Derek said.

Stiles actually scoffed at him, "What, you'll go in all wolfed out, do the whole fangs and sideburns and missing eyebrows thing, and attack something you don't even know the name of? Yeah, that'll work."

Derek prickled, "I can read a book, Stiles."

Stiles' limbs flew around to emphasize his points, "And I'm not saying you can't, but I figured out that Scott was a werewolf before he did…"

Derek scoffed back at Stiles. 'Cleverer than Scott' was a poor argument. But Stiles wasn't done.

"And I saved your ass with Peter and with Jackson! And I figured out about the sacrifices before any of you!"

"Stiles!" Derek protested, "I don't want you getting hurt."

"What, because the rest of you are invincible?" Stiles snapped, "Come on, Derek! You're being totally unfair!"

"Unfair?" snapped Derek, "How old are you, five?"

"No, I'm turning eighteen in like a week and a half, which only adds to my point that…"

"What?" Derek demanded. Less than two weeks?

"My point that I'm…"

"No. You're turning eighteen?" Derek interrupted.

"Yeah, I'll be able to vote and join the military and everything. Seriously, if I'm old enough to go get shot…"

"Stiles…" Derek started. He knew Stiles would hear the fear and worry in his voice, but he had no way to stop it or disguise it. Less than two weeks before Stiles turned eighteen and Derek had not worked out what was coming for him.

"What?" said Stiles, face finally flickering with doubt, "what's wrong?"

Derek didn't know where to start.

Stiles shuffled closer, "Seriously, Derek, you look like I've just told you your girlfriend's dead. I mean, shit, sorry, that was stupid, I don't mean that, I just mean… I mean, why do you look so … well, not sad, you always look sad, but… you know…"

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no idea what to do now. Should he tell Stiles the truth? Stiles' restless hand fumbled for Derek's arm, and Derek stared at Stiles' face. He imagined that face distorting with fear as Derek told him about the creature. Then he imagined that face being broken by the creature itself. He couldn't bear either.

"Stiles…"

A harsh buzzing sound jangled at them. Stiles looked a little confused for a moment, maybe realizing how close to Derek he was now sitting. "Oh, shit," he mumbled, then started fumbling in his pockets. It took him a few attempts to pull out his cell phone. "Oh, it's Chloe, sorry, I… Chloe." He pressed the accept button and then started talking to 'Chloe.'

"Hey, Chloe… nah, I'm off school, got head injuries… no, that wasn't, I'm not trying to get at you… seriously… nah, if I'd known a little bump on the head would have got me out of chem, I'd have done it months ago…. No… no, really…"

Stiles was grinning. Derek stared. Who the hell was Chloe?

"Er… yeah, sure… no, that's a great idea. Really. I'd love to…"

Love to what? Derek's eyes were glued to Stiles and his stupid grinning face.

"Really? Yeah, sure… nah, it's just me and some guy my dad asked to babysit me… you know, since I bumped by head…"

Some guy? Derek was just some guy?

"Nah, he won't want to come," Stiles suddenly turned to Derek, "Er… you won't want to come, will you?"

Derek glared, "Come where?"

"Er… for coffee with me and Chloe…" Stiles said.

"Who…" Derek held in 'the hell' "is Chloe?"

"Er… a friend?" said Stiles

"A friend?" Derek repeated, "From school?"

"No," said Stiles.

Derek glared at him. Surely if he glared enough, Stiles would volunteer actual information on who 'Chloe' was and why the hell Stiles was planning to have coffee with her.

"So, I'll take glowering silence as your way of saying, 'Sure, Stiles, I'm cool with this,' so, yeah," he went back to the phone, "yeah, sounds great. When?"

Derek glared harder.

"Awesome, I'll be there… great… thanks Chloe. Bye Chloe, bye," Stiles took the phone from his ear and ended the call. "So that was Chloe."

"Who is Chloe?" Derek repeated, slowly, as though talking to a child.

"She's a friend," said Stiles.

"How did you meet her?" Derek asked, barely concealing his worry by making it appear to be anger.

"Hey, dude, not that it's your business who I have coffee with…"

"Stiles!" Derek growled.

"She was the girl that zombie Allison threw at me," said Stiles, casually, "one minute I'm trying to talk the monster down, next some girl is on top of me. She's nice. I mean, you won't like her, because, you know, she's not a psychotic mass murderer, so she's not your type, but she seems cool."

"She was with the monster?" Derek demanded.

"No, she came out of the bowling alley for her break," said Stiles, "you know wrong place wrong time?"

Wrong place wrong time? And now following Stiles? Derek didn't believe in coincidence. But he didn't think Stiles was just going to accept Derek's word on that.

"Where are you meeting her?" Derek asked.

"The coffee shop in town," said Stiles, barely suppressing a grin. "She's so cool. And she's twenty one."

Derek flinched. Part of him wanted to sneer about a grown woman hanging around with a teenager. But Derek was older than twenty one.

Stiles was already on the move again, "So, seriously dude, I'm fine, I'm going out, you don't have to hang around here."

Derek flinched again. Stiles wanted rid of him a lot. But no way was Derek leaving him alone this close to his eighteenth birthday.

"Your dad said to watch you," said Derek, "I'm not letting him down."

"What?" Stiles cried, "I'm not a kid! I don't need watching."

"You are a kid," said Derek, mostly for his own benefit, "and you are a kid with concussion. I'm not leaving you all alone."

"I won't be all alone," said Stiles, "I'm going to meet Chloe."

"No you're not," said Derek.

"Er... yeah, I am," snapped Stiles.

"No, you're not," Derek repeated, "You're sick. You'll stay home."

"Derek, you aren't actually my dad," said Stiles, "you're not even my brother, or a very creepy uncle, and you're not even an alpha werewolf any more. It's not up to you whether I go out or not."

"Your dad asked me..."

"To watch me, yes, you've said that a few times already," Stiles snapped, "So here's an idea, why don't you watch me walk out the door."

Derek watched him do just that. Then he swore and followed him.

**AN: Reviews?**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Thanks everyone who reviewed the last chapter. This fic is coming together slowly. Hope you're still enjoying.**

**Reviews send little thrills around my body. And make me grin. Really, I'm that pathetic. You must feed this need or I'll have to find other hobbies.**

There were a number of four letter words Stiles would have quite liked to use to describe Derek Hale at that moment. None of them were flattering. But the word that crept to mind most at that moment was confusing. Because, seriously, what was Derek's problem? Just because he didn't want to throw Stiles against a flat surface and have his wicked way with him, didn't mean that Stiles shouldn't get the opportunity to throw or be thrown by someone else.

He'd jumped into his jeep quick enough but knew there was no way of stopping Mr.-Quick-as-the-Flash-because-werewolf following should he choose to. He decided he didn't care and drove as fast as he could legally travel, (legally because being stopped by his dad or one of his deputies would still put a serious downer on the day) down odd routes in an attempt to confuse Derek should he be on his tail, then pulled up near enough to the coffee shop where he was meeting Chloe.

He was a bit early so he stood in the doorway and played with his phone for a bit. Which was just enough time to be sure Derek caught up with him. The bastard.

Stiles turned into the shop the second he spotted him, and bought a coffee from the bored, hipster barista. Derek copied.

Stiles glared at him, though obviously he was no match to the judgmental eyebrows of death, and sat down at a table near the back

Seriously, why the hell had Derek followed? Stiles hadn't had such a persistent baby sitter since Mrs. Drayman in third grade. But he'd sent her off with a nervous tick. He could defeat Derek Hale. Because he didn't need a baby sitter! He was nearly eighteen and did not have a concussion.

Derek made his way over to his table.

"Can I help you sir?" Stiles greeted with cold politeness.

Derek blinked.

"There are plenty of tables," said Stiles. "I'm sitting here, but there are more over there." He pointed to the other side of the coffee shop, near the window.

Derek glared, obviously just catching on to Stiles' new tactic, "Stiles…"

"Dude, seriously, you're being a creeper," Stiles interrupted, feeling slightly smug that people listening would probably not realise that Stiles was his name.

"Stiles!" Derek scolded.

"I'm meeting someone, dude," said Stiles, now feeling incredibly smug at Derek's slightly confused and very frustrated expression. He deserved everything he got after that crap at the hospital. "Seriously, you need to back off before I have to call someone."

He backed off from saying 'the cops'. Derek would have called his bluff on that. Or repeated 'your dad told me to watch you,' which, outside the context of knowing Derek's non-verbal styles, Stiles, the concussion, and Stiles' dad almost definitely having said that, would make the few already nervous looking eavesdroppers around them think Derek was some sort of candy wielding, stranger-danger weirdo, and Stiles felt the need to protect him from that.

"Sit somewhere else, dude," he said, warningly. And Derek gave him an extra intense glare, but thankfully obeyed, striding to a nearby table, and sitting so he could watch Stiles. Which made him seem like even more of a creeper to anyone who had overheard the previous conversation. Stiles rolled his eyes and decided not to care.

It took another half hour for Chloe to arrive. She wasn't late, but Stiles hadn't meant to leave straight after the phone call, that had just been an impotent way to annoy Derek. She came in and instantly dashed to his side looking apologetic, eyes on the empty cup from his first coffee.

"Oh my God, have you been here long? I thought we said three! I'm so sor…"

"Stop saying sorry!" Stiles interrupted.

"I'm sor…"

"No, I was early," said Stiles. "Strategic escape."

He didn't look at Derek. He wasn't going to let Derek ruin this as well as his every fantasy. Well, dominate the fantasies. Now was not the time to even think about that.

"What does that mean?" Chloe asked.

"No, nothing, it doesn't mean anything," said Stiles, "Er, coffee?"

"No! This is me thanking you, the coffee's on me," said Chloe, her purse already in her hands, "because of the whole thing where you're a hero and I nearly killed you."

"You didn't nearly kill me," said Stiles, "I wasn't anywhere near dying, I'm OK."

"Still, I'm buying coffee, whether you like it or not," said Chloe. Then looked alarmed. "I mean, if you want coffee. I'm not gonna force feed you coffee or something."

"Yeah, that'd be an infringement of my human rights," said Stiles with a grin.

"Oh God," said Chloe.

Stiles shook his head like a teacher, "Trying to buy me alcohol, then trying to force feed me hot beverages… we're heading towards quite serious felonies now…"

"Oh God!" Chloe repeated.

Stiles took pity on her, and told her what he wanted to drink. She gave him a grateful smile, and wondered off to the counter. Of course Derek chose that moment to make his presence known.

He ambushed Stiles at his table. "I don't like her," he hissed.

"Dude, she just arrived!" Stiles snapped. "Anyway, it doesn't matter whether you like her or not! You're not on this date."

Derek's glare got glarier, "She smells weird."

"Why are you smelling her?" Stiles demanded in a harsh whisper, while on the inside he was roaring with very confused jealousy.

"It's wrong," said Derek.

"Go back to your own table and stop being a creeper!" Stiles hissed, just as Chloe turned around and Derek straightened up, levelled his death glare at Chloe, and strolled back to his table. From which he continued to glare at them.

"Er… do you know him?" asked Chloe.

"Nope," said Stiles, "never seen him before in my life."

"He seems to be glaring," said Chloe.

"Is he?" said Stiles, pretending to look, "I mean, I don't think he's glaring. I think he's just… you know… looking."

"His eyebrows are kind of … aggressive," said Chloe.

Stiles held in his laugh, "Yeah, totally, they look like they wanna fight each other his nose," he said.

"Didn't I see him at the hospital?" Chloe asked. "Isn't he your angry friend?"

"Er… nope, never seen him before in my life…"

"So it wasn't him who went in your room while you were with your dad?"

Stiles flushed, "Well, I mean, there were a lot of people wishing me well that night. I'm very popular, you know."

Chloe scrunched up her nose at him, "So… you do know him?"

Stiles hesitated, "Yeah, sorta, he's just… a friend of a friend and he gets a bit… growly."

Chloe laughed. "Growly?"

Stiles grinned, "Yeah, you know, like graah, I'm Derek Hale, I'm gonna rip your throat out with my teeth if you don't do as I ask, raar!"

Chloe laughed, then her face fell in fear, "Er… did he … er… he never said that, did he?"

Stiles wondered if this was getting into over-share territory, "Nah," he lied, "he's just… like… growly."

"Growly," said Chloe, "you make him sound like some kind of dog."

Stiles couldn't hold in the laugh that time. His gaze wondered to Derek, who was glaring like no one had ever glared before. And Stiles remembered he would have heard every word.

"Er… tell you what, let's talk about you," he said.

"Me?" said Chloe, "Er… there's not much to…"

"Like, where did you grow up?" Stiles supplied, "what's it like working at a bowling alley?"

And Chloe talked. And she was funny and clever and painfully self-conscious, and Stiles kind of wanted to marry her. Except he kept thinking about Derek, watching and glaring, and having a weird fantasy where Derek strode over and scooped him up and put him over his shoulder like a caveman. Which Stiles would bitch about until Derek professed his undying love.

But that was never going to happen, because the only real emotion Derek felt for Stiles was undying annoyance.

He gave Derek an extra glare when he had that thought.

* * *

Stiles would have to go to the bathroom eventually.

And when he did, Derek was going to find out exactly what this bitch wanted.

Derek knew she was a bitch. He could tell from the way she was perfectly nice about everything. The way she laughed at Stiles' jokes. No one laughed at Stiles' jokes. Not even Scott thought encouraging Stiles' jokes was a good idea. And the way she looked so nervous about the whole thing. She had to be up to something. And she'd insulted Derek's eyebrows. She was a bitch.

It didn't help that Stiles kept glaring at him. What did he expect Derek to do? Leave him alone to the mercies of this bitch? She was probably a vampire in disguise. Or something.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told Stiles that she'd smelt. Except it was so light a smell he couldn't be sure. It was unsettling that this trace scent lingered on her but was not enough for Derek to identify. She must have been doing something to repress it, though Derek had no idea how powerful something had to be to do that.

Stiles glared at him again. He was pretty sure he'd done nothing to deserve it. But Stiles was hardly a gifted glarer, so Derek felt no need to react to it.

Then Stiles got up. Maybe he was going to the bathroom. Derek didn't care. He dashed over.

"Who are you?" he growled at the girl.

"Er… I'm Chloe?" the girl gasped back, eyes wide with alarm and a smell that backed up the emotion.

"And what are you?" he growled. He only just managed not to wolf out.

"What?" gasped Chloe, heart racing now.

"What are you?" he repeated, "what do you want with Stiles?"

"He… er… he saved me from a mugger so…"

"I know the story you told him!" snapped Derek, "Tell me what you really want!"

Chloe just stared at him, eyes wide.

"Tell me!" Derek growled.

Chloe took a few deep but ragged breaths, "Do you… do you… love him?"

"What?" Derek snapped, "Of course I don't…"

"You want him," said Chloe, "I didn't see it before, but it's obvious. I mean, who follows someone on a date?"

"I'm watching you…" Derek started.

"Yeah, right," said Chloe. "You want him, but you know what? He's on a date with someone else. He doesn't belong to you. You need to let him go."

Derek shivered. Stiles didn't belong to him. And that could be the end for Stiles.

"He chose to be on a date with me," Chloe told him, calmly, coldly, "You can't bully your way into it. You can't force him to choose you. He's making his own choices. And you, with your aggressive, angry, miserable face can't change that."

Derek blinked. Her calm belied her previous shy awkwardness. This girl wasn't real. That smell. Those words. She was claiming Stiles as her own.

"It's you," Derek breathed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Chloe. "Stiles is coming back and we're leaving."

Derek turned. It's true, Stiles was coming back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stiles cried.

And Stiles was pissed.

"Seriously, dude, leave her alone!" Stiles cried.

"Stiles…" Derek started.

"No, Derek, there's no way this is OK. You need to back off."

He started to leave. He handed Chloe her jacket, gave her an apologetic look. Derek had to stop him. "Stiles, listen to me!"

"You OK?" Stiles asked Chloe.

"I'm OK," said Chloe, "Can we go?"

"Sure," said Stiles.

Derek had to stop him. How the hell could he stop him?

"Stiles…"

"Fuck off, Derek," Stiles snapped. "You wanted me to leave you alone, so here I am, leaving you alone. Now try doing the same."

"She's not who you think she…"

"Oh my god! Are you seriously doing this? Seriously?"

"She wants to…"

"We're going," snapped Stiles, "Come on, Chloe."

He put an arm on her back, and walked out of the coffee shop without even glancing backwards. Chloe, however, paused in the doorway. She looked back at Derek with a gleam in her eyes that Derek couldn't recognize. And now Derek was certain. Stiles had just left the coffee shop with the monster who'd been craving him for years.

Which left Derek only one choice.

**AN; Dun dun duuuun! What does Chloe want? Hmmm... Reviews?**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Enjoy. x**

It happened far too quickly.

One moment Stiles was walking to his jeep, one hand reached out but not quite daring to take Chloe's arm, ready with a hundred apologies for Derek's insanity, all of which could wait until they were out of Derek's earshot. The next a hand was pulling him round, something was shoving itself into his hips, and suddenly, he was dangling over a muscled shoulder and getting a pretty good view of a well-defined back and stunning ass.

"What the fuck, Derek?" he shouted, because there was no one else who could have picked Stiles up and thrown him over his shoulder quite so easily, and even fewer who would want to. Not to mention, who had such a perfect back and ass.

"What are you doing?" he heard a girl, presumably Chloe, protest, with obvious fear.

"Derek!" Stiles shouted, "Put me down! Derek!"

He could already see the ground moving. Derek was carrying him off. Chloe's protests were getting quieter, but he heard a clear "I'm calling 911."

"Oh shit, Derek!" Stiles shouted, "You get that we're both gonna have to explain this to my dad, now, right?"

Derek didn't seem to feel the need to answer. So Stiles tried a few feeble orders of "Put me down, Derek!" before they reached Stiles' jeep.

"Keys?" Derek demanded.

"No way, dude," said Stiles to Derek's ass, "I'm so not contributing to my own kidnap."

He heard Derek grunt and then keep on down the road. Stiles wondered if he planned to walk all the way back to Stiles' home. He didn't. He just went a little further on to where the Camaro was parked.

"You know when you put me down, I'm just gonna run away, right?" said Stiles.

"And you know I'll catch you," said Derek. "In seconds. And then I'll put you in the trunk."

"But why, Derek?" Stiles whined. Because that was the problem. He had literally no clue why Derek was being so crazy.

Derek shoved him into the back seat of the Camaro, where Stiles ended up splayed untidily, and gave him that familiar 'I can't believe how stupid you're being right now' look. "Something can take the face of whoever it wants, and you just happen to get asked out by a pretty girl the next day! Do you think that's a coincidence Stiles?"

Stiles' jaw dropped, "Seriously?" he cried.

Derek was as unmovable as ever, "We're going home. Until we know what that thing is, you're not going anywhere."

"She's not the monster, Derek!" Stiles cried, annoyed because it was all so obvious. "She was there when the monster was there! Of all the strangers in the world, I know she is not the monster because I saw her and the monster at the same time!"

Derek didn't reply. He slammed the car door on Stiles and dove into the driver's seat. The engine was on and he was driving off before Stiles could even get his feet to the floor, and his hand on the door.

"Derek!" Stiles shouted, furiously. "You think she's the monster because she asked me out? Seriously? The guy who she ran away from?"

Derek didn't reply. He just ran a stop sign.

"Derek!" Stiles cried. Then put two and two together, "Oh my God!" he shouted, "You think she's the monster because you don't think she'd actually want to date me!"

"No!" Derek protested, but Stiles could see through it.

"You think that because I'm not built like a fucking body builder with a chiselled chin and fucking designer stubble, that there's no way some nice, hot girl would find me attractive!"

"I don't think ..."

"You total ass-w..."

"I don't think that, Stiles!"

Stiles didn't listen. He was starting to see Derek's point. In a town like Beacon Hills, where every other guy had the body of a swimwear model, why would anyone be looking at a hundred and forty seven pounds of pale, mole-covered skin and hyperactive muscle-free bones?

"It wasn't even a date," said Stiles, almost to himself, "not really."

"Stiles..."

"It was just coffee. She was just saying thank you. She never pretended to find me attractive."

"Stiles this is not about how attractive you are," Derek growled.

"Would you be reacting this way if I looked like Scott?" Stiles demanded.

Derek only growled at him in frustration.

"Oh my God, how the hell am I supposed to explain all this to Chloe?!" Stiles groaned.

"You won't need to," said Derek, "because next time you see her she will be trying to eat you."

"Not anymore, she won't," Stiles mumbled.

"Stiles!" Derek growled.

But Stiles had never been cowed by Derek's growls before, and he was not about to start now, "OK, let's just pretend you're right, that Chloe is somehow the monster that threw the other her at me, what can she possibly hope to gain from buying me coffee, Derek?"

Derek was silent for a long moment, face intense with broody Derek-thoughts.

"See?" Stiles cried, taking the silence for acquiescence, "It doesn't make sense!"

Derek hit the wheel. Stiles was quite impressed it didn't snap, but managed to hold in his comment, aware his limbs were probably less sturdy.

"Stiles," Derek growled, voice low, "we need to talk."

"What?" said Stiles, "what do you think we're doing now?"

"Stiles..." Derek began, but Stiles saw the how the cogs in his mind worked.

"And seriously, Derek, I don't want another lecture on avoiding the paranormal. You're just not gonna win that argument!"

"It's not..."

"You know, my dad's been trying to persuade me that fries count as a vegetable since third grade, if he can't win..."

"Stiles will you just listen?" Derek snapped.

"Dude you sound like a teacher right now," Stiles told him, and gave him the appropriate look, experienced by all Stiles teachers when they were being unreasonable.

Derek pulled over. They were in the middle of nowhere, now. He looked back at Stiles, all eyebrows and stubble and growled "Get in the front."

"And normal people don't order other people around, you know that right?" Stiles replied, but he obeyed anyway, clambering into the front, being careful to knock Derek not quite so accidentally on the way, and then sitting, arms folded, in the front seat giving Derek his best challenging glare. "Well?"

Derek rubbed his face with his hands.

"Jesus," he mumbled.

Stiles frowned. What was going on? Had Derek been hiding something? Something big? For how long?

"Dude, when grown-ups wanna say something, they use their words."

"Stiles, will you..." Derek snapped, then took a deep breath. "When you were eight, or something, you showed up in the forest outside my house. Do you remember?"

That took Stiles by surprise. Not least because he had no memories of it. "No I didn't!" he protested.

"Yes you did," said Derek, "My mom took the memories from me. I guess she took them from you too."

"No, but..." Stiles was wracking his brains. He couldn't remember it, not even for a moment, "Was I with my dad or ..."

Derek interrupted, "No, you were alone. I think you were running away from home."

"Yeah, now I know you're lying, because I never ran away from home," said Stiles, "I wouldn't do that to my dad."

"You were sad," said Derek, "your smell was so sad it hurt. I could feel it burning inside me, you were so sad."

Stiles ignored the words. They made no sense. "No, it never happened!" he cried.

"My mom took your memories, Stiles," said Derek. "She didn't want you living in fear."

"In fear of what?" Stiles asked, curiously, before remembering this was crap. "No, stop it! What is this, some new crazy technique to freak me out until I leave you alone? Which will so never work, dude."

"No," said Derek, quietly and firmly, "I'm telling the truth."

"Well I don't believe you!" Stiles snapped, angrily. "What even happened? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know what it is," said Derek with obvious annoyance, probably at his own ignorance more than Stiles.

Stiles folded his arms, "Look, I never ran away from home, I never went to your house until after the fire, I never knew any of this stuff was real until your psycho creep of an uncle bit my best friend. So what exactly are you accusing me of, Derek?"

Derek blinked at him. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he said.

"Then what is this conversation about?" Stiles groaned.

"Stiles, there was ..." Derek took a deep breath, his fingers curling and uncurling at the wheel, "there was a... creature there that night."

"A what?" Stiles cried, again bemused, confused.

Derek fidgeted, "A creature. I don't know what it was."

"What, you haven't made up that part of the story yet?" Stiles snapped, voice treacherously missing his intended unruffled sneer by a mile, and hitting some kind of furious panic.

"I'm not making it up, Stiles," said Derek, still making an effort to hold in his own obvious anger. "We took you into the house because it was too dangerous outside, but it got in somehow, and it said it wanted you..."

Stiles shivered, "What? Now I know you're lying, seriously, nobody wants me! My dad loves me more that life itself but he doesn't actually want me around for more than like, an hour at a time."

Derek didn't take the hint. He just kept going,"It tried to persuade you to go with it. It… it changed its face, Stiles! Became a woman with…"

"Stop! Stop it!" Stiles shouted, "Because if you're about to pretend it became Chloe…"

Derek shook his head, "No, I think… I think it was your mo…"

"Shut up!" Stiles shouted. He could feel his own anger making his face hot, his own fear and panic making his heart race, "You're telling me your mom stole my memories! Do you know who else stole my memories? The nogitsune! The nogitsune left great blanks in my head, time I couldn't remember, and now you're telling me your mom did the same?"

"She did it to prote..." Derek started, but Stiles was too far gone to listen now.

"And you let her? You let her decide what I had to forget? What, do you think that you're better than us? That you're some sort of gods because you can run faster and pick us up and move us like toddlers?" He heard Derek's 'no' of protest, but it didn't register. "Taking people's memories and turning them into monsters without even a thought about their opinion? Did I want my memories stolen? Did Scott want to be a werewolf? You don't own the town Derek!"

"I didn't turn Scott..."

"No, your creepy uncle did. The same creepy uncle who hangs around not quite helping out when things try to kill us. So maybe this whole god complex runs in the family. You made yourself a little gang of followers, your little disciples, just like Uncle Peter, little toys for you to control, just like Mommy. Oh, humans? They don't count, they aren't one of us, the almighty Hales, masters of Beacon Hills."

"You were eight! Should we have just left you to deal with it?" Derek protested, even as Stiles spoke over him.

"So we'll have them as our little puppets on a string, doing as their told, playing our games, messing with people's lives!"

"Stiles..."

"A human dies? Who cares? Like who cares when a sheep dies or a cow dies, right? Your little farm. Your little playground. You think it's funny? You enjoy seeing people in pain? Do you?"

Derek didn't reply. He was staring forward now. Ignoring Stiles. Maybe trying to block him out. Stiles didn't really see him anymore anyway.

"Why me?! Why did it come after me? What did I do, Derek? What, am I just so pathetic? It thought there wouldn't be a fight?"

There was a stinging silence in the car at that. Derek was staring out of the windscreen, and Stiles was reeling. What had he just said? The idea of another creature taking control of him had hit him with such force he'd lost track of his own mouth. The thing that had used his hands to stab his best friend, that had caused the deaths of people he knew, people he cared about, good people, still made him scared to sleep in case he wasn't in control when he woke up. Now Derek was telling him something else was targeting him. He'd lost himself in panic.

"I'm just this scrawny human kid who can't even read a book without drugs to help him focus," he said, "So you supernatural things, you see that and you think, oh, hey, there's a way to Scott, a way to mess up the town."

Derek wasn't even looking at him. What the hell was he saying? What had he said?

"I should go home," Stiles said. Because sorry was almost on his lips, except Derek had definitely been a dick in the last few days, so Stiles wasn't starting the apology fest when he still wanted to scream at the world.

Derek didn't reply. He simply turned the ignition and drove.

"I'm sorry," said Stiles after a few minutes. Because that was what people did when they lost their shit and probably insulted someone's entire family.

"I know," said Derek.

"Dick," said Stiles. Because Derek should have apologized too.

Stiles' phone rang. It was Chloe. He hesitated, staring at it. Derek took the decision out of his hands, literally, taking the phone and sending the call to voicemail.

...xxx…xxx…xxx…

"Stiles?" said Chloe.

"Hey, this is Stiles, I'm busy saving the world or whatever, so leave a message, yeah, it's twenty fourteen, you know how these things work."

Chloe sighed. She hadn't really expected him to answer. She'd called 911, and the second she'd said Stiles' name, she'd been put through to a tired sounding man who'd done nothing but sigh at her story.

"Right," he'd said, "Thanks for letting us know."

"Er… aren't you gonna do anything?" she'd asked, bemused.

"Yeah," replied the tired man, "I'll probably try to ground him again, but it won't make any difference. Thanks for calling."

"Er…" said Chloe, because she didn't know what else to say.

"Have a nice day, Miss," said the tired man, "maybe when he's allowed out on his own again, maybe in fifty years, he'll get round to introducing us."

"Er…" said Chloe again.

But the guy had hung up on her. So Chloe put her phone away and stood still for a moment.

Then she'd walked purposefully down the street. When she'd gone a few blocks she got her phone out again and sent a few texts. Then she turned down an alley, between dark buildings. She had her hands in her pockets and a thoughtful look on her face. About halfway down she stopped and turned slowly back the way she'd come.

A dark figure was stood behind her, silent as the grave.

Chloe raised her eyebrows. "Can I help you?" she asked.

**AN: Reviews?**


	11. Chapter 11

Scott's reaction to the news was both more level headed and more pragmatic than Stiles'. But then, Stiles had hardly laid a high benchmark.

He demanded Derek explain a dozen times. Then he demanded to know more. How long Derek had known, why he didn't explain to them all the moment he realised, whether there was anyone else who might know what the creature was, whether he knew how they might find it.

Stiles had fallen into a miserable silence. He was aware of every person in Derek's loft (because apparently when you asked Derek to go home, he took you to his home) staring at him with open confusion and concern. Silence was not something Stiles liked, nor was it a something he found easy to handle, but inside his head his thoughts were having a riot.

Lydia was trying to be practical. She too was asking questions, and hers were more probing than the ones Scott was focusing on. She wanted descriptions from everyone, how not-Allison had seemed, what the creature at Derek's house had looked like and smelt like and sounded like and what it had done. Then she demanded what Peter knew.

Peter wasn't actually there, so she got a blank look from the gathered group.

"Seriously, we need to talk to him!" she said.

No one answered her.

She gave them all a slightly annoyed look. "Look, I know he doesn't just help out of the evilness of his heart, I know he only does things if he knows how it will benefit him, but this is about keeping Stiles safe! We have to try."

"What if it isn't?" said Stiles.

They all turned to him again, faces painted with frowns of concern and pity. Stiles blocked that all out.

"What if it isn't about me?" he clarified, "Derek saw an eight year old boy in some memory. We don't know it was me, we don't even know if it's a real memory…"

The eyes dotted to Derek, who was being very monosyllabic in his answers to questions now. He kept his own eyes on Stiles, maybe wondering where he was going with this, how far Stiles was prepared to insult Derek.

Stiles was trying to make the same point he'd been making since Derek first told him, "I mean, Derek was only a kid himself, right? And I know the general consensus is that puberty passed me by, but I seriously doubt I look the same as I did when I was eight. Right? And if Derek's mom could take memories, who's to say something else can't make them. Fake ones, right? I mean, Peter put himself into Lydia's mind! Maybe this is all him, messing with us?"

They looked at each other, the few that were left. Scott, Kira, Isaac, and Lydia. They were uncomfortable at the change in the tension Stiles had just created. Derek may not be the alpha anymore, but everyone was still uncomfortable outright calling him wrong.

"It was you, Stiles," said Derek, quietly.

Stiles kept challenging him, "How can you be sure? Did I say, 'Hey there, grumpy eyebrows, my name's Stiles Stilinski, where are your impossible creatures?' Did you I show you any ID?"

"I just know," said Derek.

"But, dude, there are three guys in this room who were all kinda weird, skinny kids. There must be hundreds, if not…"

"I know it was you, Stiles," snapped Derek.

"How?" Stiles demanded.

"You said your name, but I couldn't remember it," Derek grumbled, "I think Scott McCall and Isaac Lahey wouldn't have given me that much trouble."

"But I never tell anyone my name!" Stiles snapped.

"Er, Stiles?" said Scott, "when your mum was alive, you always told people your real name. You only decided you wanted us to call you Stiles when we were in third grade. Before then I used to call you…"

"Yes, right!" snapped Stiles, "No need to out me as the guy with the weird name!"

Scott raised his hands, "OK, dude, I'm just saying, you might have told Derek your real name back then."

Stiles glared at him, "OK, but that still doesn't mean it was me! There are loads of guys with weird names!"

Derek grumbled a low growl, "I know it was you, Stiles."

"How?" Stiles demanded again, frustrated.

Derek's eyes were like fire, "Because you were so annoying!" he said. But there was a quiver in his voice, and both Scott and Isaac shifted uncomfortably.

"That was a lie," said Stiles, "you're hiding something!"

"How do you…?" Derek started.

"Scott and Isaac spotted it. Didn't you?" Stiles demanded, turning to the younger werewolves, "Didn't you?"

"Er…" said Scott, as Isaac shrugged.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," said Lydia. "Even if it isn't Stiles, we've still got to investigate. Some teenager might be about to get kidnapped."

"Right," said Kira, "we need to check out the bowling place, see if there are any clues…"

"I'll sniff it out, again," said Scott, "and maybe Lydia and Kira could check out this girl? Chloe, right?"

"It's not Chloe!" Stiles groaned.

"You didn't hear, her, Stiles!" Derek growled. "She was claiming you!"

Stiles couldn't help but scoff, "Seriously? Chloe claimed me? She wouldn't have the confidence to claim anything! She's like a nervous little puppy!"

"It was an act, Stiles!"

"Right," Scott interrupted, "I'm thinking maybe Derek should come with me, check out the scene again, and Stiles can go with…"

"No," said Derek firmly.

"No, what?" Stiles snapped at him.

"No, you're not going anywhere," said Derek, simply, face tinting a shade of pink which Stiles assumed was a sign of some sort of hitherto unforeseen level of Derek anger.

"Are you kidding me?" Stiles grumbled.

"Stiles is in danger," said Derek, turning to Scott now, "he's being targeted by a supernatural being, and I believe that being is Chloe. I don't think Stiles should be going anywhere near her right now, not to visit her and not to her workplace. Until we know more, Stiles needs to be as far away from her as possible."

"Oh my god!" Stiles cried at him, like he could make the phrase be somehow accusatory.

Derek ignored him, and kept on with his instructions to Scott, "We need someone who can fight to stay with him, too. You would be too easily distracted by him, Isaac doesn't have the experience, which leaves me."

"Or Kira," said Stiles.

"…who's only just learning about her own abilities," Derek finished for him. "I'll stay and watch Stiles. Isaac, you and Lydia investigate the scene, then check out the Argent bestiary, see what you can find. Scott and Kira check out the girl, and go to Deaton, ask him what he knows. Then in the morning, if nothing has come after him, we'll regroup and make a new plan."

Stiles saw the flaw in this plan, "So, what do we do, sit about twiddling our thumbs while our friends visit people you claim to be dangerous?"

"We research," said Derek. "Find out what has the ability to change its face. And we talk to Peter."

"Eugh," said Stiles. "I get all the fun jobs."

Derek raised his eyebrows, "And you have to call your dad, explain why you're not at home. And why I had to kidnap you from a public place in broad daylight."

"I think you secretly hate me," said Stiles, "Actually, maybe not so secretly."

"Ok," said Scott, "so we're going. Leaving you two to this weird… whatever it is you got going on."

Stiles realised Scott might have been losing his grip on reality. The only thing 'going on' between Stiles and Derek was an argument, not an excuse for them all to leave Stiles alone with a werewolf who had already kidnapped him once that day.

With a handful of awkward 'bye's, the rest of them filed out. Stiles watched them go, wondering if begging would change their minds. It probably wouldn't.

"So," he said, "just the two of us. Again."

Derek sat down and crossed his arms.

"You know," said Stiles, "This could have been easily avoided. We could both be off investigating. Separately."

Derek took out his phone and began poking at the screen.

"Yep, I could be out with Scott, checking out leads, providing the brain power he needs. You could be out looking moody on roofs and shit. But nope, here we are, stuck together, not quite talking to each other."

Derek just continued texting. Which, Stiles knew, was simply an obvious invitation to keep complaining.

"Derek! You don't even like me!" Stiles moaned, "Why are you doing this to us? In fact, I think 'not like' is too mild a term for you feel about me. I think it's verging on hate."

"No," said Derek.

"So why are you making... wait, what?"

"No," Derek repeated.

"No, what?" said Stiles.

"No, I don't hate you," said Derek, that tinge of pink appearing on his face again. Though he didn't seem angry.

"Well, there are bruises on my back that suggest otherwise..." said Stiles.

Derek kept looking at his phone, even though it was obvious that he'd finished texting, "I ... find it difficult..." he said, "talking to people. Trusting people."

"Yeah, no shit," said Stiles.

Derek shifted, "It took me a while to know you and Scott weren't out to get me."

"Well," said Stiles, "we really aren't organised enough to 'get' someone. We don't really have long term objectives and stuff."

Derek gave him a look at that.

Stiles gave him a small smile back. "I'm sorry," he said, "for what I said in the car. I don't really think that stuff. I was just panicked. You know?"

Derek shrugged, "A lot of it was true."

"Well, yeah, Peter's a creep and I seriously don't know why you let him into your building let alone your pack, but... it was not OK to talk about your Mom. I know that. I'd have punched anyone who said anything about mine."

Derek nodded. "I know she wanted to do what was best for everyone," he said. "But I know why you're angry."

"I'm not," said Stiles, and it was kind if true, "not really. I mean, can you imagine what my dad would have said? He'd lost Mom, and then you lot show up and put a time bomb on my head?"

Derek seemed to shift closer, finally letting his eyes meet Stiles' "I'm not going to let it take you," he said, confidently.

Stiles' heart skipped. He had to force himself to remember that Derek meant that as his pack, not because he felt for Stiles anything he didn't feel for Scott and the rest. "Thanks," he said.

Derek looked at him hard. He had stupidly beautiful eyes.

Stiles clutched his hands together and bit his lip, wondering when he'd began to trust Derek to look after him. How long had it taken for him to stop expecting a gruesome death at the werewolf's hands, and start expecting him to put himself between Stiles and danger?

"I still think you're wrong," said Stiles. "I think that you just met the awesomeness that is me about a year ago, as we all knew, but felt so much pure adoration that you figured you must have always known me. Put my face on some random kid."

Derek raised an eyebrow, but a smirk played around his lips, so Stiles continued.

"But you gotta face it Derek, every once in a while you will just meet someone so incredibly perfect you will just want to worship the very ground they walk on. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Go with the flow."

"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek.

"It's not my fault you can't handle my awesomeness," Stiles replied.

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

"Stiles..."

"The genius, the wit and the beauty that makes up Stiles Stilinski is an acquired taste, but few who have become accustomed can, thereafter, resist."

"So you're talking about yourself in the third person now?" Derek sneered.

Stiles grinned at him, "Admittedly, the church of the Stiles was slow to gain a flock at first, but after just nearly eighteen years, the congregation had more than doubled, to a dizzying figure of dedicated followers who could not love their idol more."

"We've got to call your dad," said Derek, but his smirk was definitely morphing into a smile now.

"First, there was Scott, a plucky young boy, searching for a leader of wit and effortless cool, to guide him through the darkness of his high school years."

"Where's your phone?" Derek asked.

Stiles got off the couch, took a step away from Derek and put his hand over his pocket to protect said phone. "Later came Lydia, though it took her a number of years to realise how much she adored the Stiles. In fact, she still takes some convincing."

"Stiles..."

"Then there was Derek Hale. He did not know he was searching for a leader before he found the Stiles. In fact he thought..."

"Give me your phone Stiles!"

"He thought he was made to be leader himself. But the Stiles showed him the true meaning of leader...ship."

Derek lunged at Stiles, who darted away. Derek caught him, of course, (darn werewolfy cheating agility,) but Stiles was already laughing. Even as Derek pinned him against the wall with hands on his shoulders.

Derek appreciated the joke though. He was doing his pretending to be angry with Stiles thing, but Stiles could tell.

"The Stiles?" Derek smirked, "Seriously? Third person and the definite article?"

Stiles smirked back, "Well, when someone's this awesome, they need all the grammar..."

"All the grammar?" Derek repeated.

"Absolutely all the grammar," Stiles confirmed. "As a mark of respect."

"Respect?" Derek repeated, bemused, "give me your phone."

Stiles smirked, "Not until you admit how awesome I am."

"Really?" said Derek, eyebrows at their highest, but twitches about his face giving away his humour, "you think you're in a position to negotiate?"

"I know to a casual observer, this totally looks like you've got the upper hand, but the casual observer is not aware of my super-secret ninja skills."

"Super-secret ninja skills," said Derek, "those super-secret ninja skills that you've never shown anyone. Ever?"

"Or they're just so super cool and secret, they're too fast to see," said Stiles.

Derek observed him. "Ok," he said, "get free."

"What?" Stiles laughed.

"I wanna see these super-secret ninja skills in action," said Derek, "Maybe I could learn something."

Stiles had a couple of problems with that. Firstly, he had absolutely no way of getting free from Derek's grasp. For a second he had no desire to. But he went with it.

"Oh my god!" he cried, looking over Derek's shoulder.

Derek raised his eyebrow again.

"Seriously Derek, there's a zombie approaching!"

Derek shook his head.

"Eugh, fine," said Stiles. He tried to tickle Derek. It didn't work. Because solid walls of muscle may or may not be ticklish, but Derek was faster and had longer arms. He grabbed both of Stiles wrists and pushed them above his head.

Stiles tried to hold in the gasp.

"That all you got?" said Derek, "I could hold you with one hand."

He demonstrated by taking both of Stiles' hands in one of his. Stiles wondered if Derek knew how quickly this had gone from teasing to a beautiful man holding him helpless against a wall and giving him a significant pant-related problem.

"Ung," said Stiles. Which wasn't that impressive.

"So, I was after your phone," said Derek, smirking. He waved his free hand in front of Stiles, then slowly crept it towards Stiles' pocket, while Stiles squirmed And tried to remember about breathing and how it was necessary even her pinned to walls by gorgeous older men.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thanks if you've left a review so far! They really do help feed the bit of me that does this for attention, and I do love anyone who takes the time.**

There was a polite cough from the doorway.

Derek sprang away from Stiles, and glared at rude, interrupting Peter.

Peter smirked back and said "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

Derek wanted to shout at his uncle, but really he could only curse himself and be grateful for the wakeup call. How stupid could he be? Maybe Stiles was flirting a bit, but probably it was just because he felt guilty about his words in the car. Or maybe he just needed a bit of comfort! He was a kid who had just learnt he might be in danger! And Derek had very nearly taken advantage of that. Derek was a horrible person.

Stiles, who was always wittier and more verbal than anyone else, even if it often presented as ramblings and insanity, said, "Seriously? You make two people jump a mile and your only comment is a cliché so old that my grandmother would have rolled their eyes at it?"

Peter put his head on one side, "Nice deflection," he said, with a preen, "I'm sorry my wit wasn't sufficient for your tastes. Maybe I should try the more direct approach. Was there a reason my nephew was pinning you to a wall with his hand on your pants?"

Derek's face felt embarrassingly warm again. That was happening too often today. He went to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. What on Earth had he been thinking?

"That's not really any of your business, is it?" said Stiles, seeming far cooler than Derek could have managed.

Peter smirked, "Oh, I see," he said, "It's not my business. So... are we not communicating today? Because I was under the impression that Derek wanted my help. But if I'm wrong, I'll just..."

He turned and pointed at the door, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. Derek had to stop him.

"We were just messing around," he said.

Peter turned back, his eyes gleaming, "I see," he said, "and so you pin all your teenage..." he looked at Stiles, calculatingly, "friends to various walls do you?"

"Yeah, most of us," said Stiles, and he glared at Peter. "Sometimes it's trees, according to Scott, and usually he's saving our lives or we're being irritating. Just then, he was trying to steal my phone." He gave Peter a scathing look. "Just because you're a creeper doesn't mean the rest of us are. Don't judge the rest of us by your standards."

Peter raised his eyebrows, and gave Stiles a look Derek suspected was admiration, no matter how much it looked like derision. "Again, I'll remind you that it was Derek that text asking me for help," he said, conversationally, "but, by all means, keep insulting me. I'm sure mild annoyance is a far more effective tool of persuasion than people give it credit for."

Derek growled. He shouldn't have. Peter found it entertaining, and Stiles just rolled his eyes.

"Eugh, fine," said Stiles, "You're not a total creep. Though, as you can totally tell that's a lie, maybe you can give me points for effort and help us out anyway?"

Peter's eyes met Derek and Derek was certain his uncle had somehow won that conversation. He strolled casually into Derek's home as though it were his own, and reclined on the couch. "So I assume you're in dire need of my wealth of experience in the world of monsters and creatures of the dark," he said, and looked at them both expectantly.

"Actually, we're mostly curious about something you've been hiding from us," said Stiles, with maximum rudeness.

Peter hummed to himself, "Much as I would like to claim complete honesty with you darling children, I must admit to there being parts of my life that I've held back. The name of my first crush, for example, the date I lost my virginity. But I'm not sure if any of it has been relevant so far."

"Peter," Derek scolded, before Stiles could say something equally or more sarcastic which would inevitably escalate, "We need to know about the night Stiles turned up in the forest outside the old house."

He watched Peter carefully as the older werewolf tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the arm of the chair.

"Well, that would have happened, surely, while I was in a coma?" he said. "I don't think I can add anything to the discussion."

Stiles got in before Derek could say anything.

"There was a kid, about eight years old, apparently, who showed up outside your house before the fire, about ten years ago. Derek's convinced it was me, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't."

For the first time in the conversation, Peter looked slightly perturbed.

"Do you remember, Peter?" Derek asked. "We were out in the forest, they were looking for a creature, we wanted to be part of it, but we bumped into a scared kid, and we took him back to the house to keep him safe?"

Peter put his head to one side, "You kidnapped a kid?"

"No!" Derek growled, angrily, "There was a monster in the woods so we took him back to the house to keep him safe. You have to remember!"

Peter thought for a while. Then he shrugged. "Lots of creatures showed up back then. Mostly they were friends of Talia or Deaton."

"Peter…" Derek started angrily. He had been certain Peter knew something, but this didn't play like a lie.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Derek, if Talia met something that worried her, she'd keep notes. I put everything I found on that laptop." He turned to Stiles, who shifted under the gaze despite his own glare, "Stiles, be a dear, fetch the laptop for us. I believe it's in Derek's room."

"What? Why can't you get it?" asked Stiles.

"Obviously because Derek neither trusts me alone in his home, nor alone with you. If you would just fetch it for us, it would save a lot of awkwardness." Peter smiled, and if he weren't Peter, it could have been mistaken for innocently.

Stiles glanced at Derek, face sulky, but he seemed to accept the truth of the statement. He stropped off up the spiral stairs, and as soon as he was certainly out of earshot, Peter said "What parts of this story have you left out to avoid upsetting the human?"

Derek glared. But there were parts of it he had left out. Not relevant parts though. "Nothing important."

Peter's eyes were quick, but wide, possibly with frankness. "Derek, who knows what details may trigger my memory! I was in a coma for six years, then dead for a few months. I'm still catching up."

Derek snorted. Peter was still the most dangerous and capable individual he knew. He even seemed to take the snort as a compliment.

"Come on, Derek," he said, taking pleasure in every word and every uncomfortable shift that Derek made, "give me details. I may be able to help."

Derek glared a bit longer, but he was in no position to hold back. "He tried to scream so you told me to gag him."

Peter actually smirked. "And did you?"

"With my hand," said Derek. "He tried to scratch me so you threatened him with your claws."

He had tried to make it sound accusatory, but Peter had never been one to feel guilt. "I imagine him making a lot of noise would have put us all in danger," the older man supplied, so close now to smiling that Derek found it hard not to scratch his major arteries open.

"Yes," said Derek.

Clearly enjoying this far too much, Peter leaned forward conspiratorially, "And how else did you abuse our young friend, Derek?"

Derek's heart skipped a beat. Peter simply smirked at him. "You're wondering how I know?" Peter asked.

Derek nodded, not quite able to answer his previous question yet.

"It's written all through your scent, Derek," Peter told him, himself reeking of amusement, "the guilt is a bit of a constant for you, but there's a new twinge of it, and a whole heap of embarrassment now too."

Derek glared at him harder. He hated Peter. If he weren't Derek's only remaining family that Derek had already killed once, the older man would never see the light of day. Or at least not the inside of Derek's loft. Unfortunately, at that moment he was necessary.

"I… he tried to run away. So I… I bound his hands…with..."

"With duct tape?" Peter finished for him.

Derek's eyes widened "You remember?"

Peter's focus seemed to have slipped. He was gazing into the distance, no longer seeing Derek's face.

"Peter?" Derek called, "Peter? Do you remember?"

Peter's eyes slipped back to Derek. He took a moment longer before he said "No, it just seemed like the most likely thing you'd use to tie up a child."

Which was, of course, the moment Stiles chose to come back into the room.

"What?" he said, face scrunched with confusion and vague disgust.

Peter turned to greet him with a friendly smile, and said jovially "Our dear Derek, here, tied up a local child." He made a tutting sound with his tongue. "And I'm the one that gets the creepy jokes. How is that fair?"

"Yeah, you're still creepy," said Stiles. "That's a given. Always will be." But he was staring at Derek now, like Derek might have grown an extra head.

"Well, at least I've got company in the creepy gang," said Peter.

"Stiles," said Derek.

"Is this, er… the kid that you think was me?" Stiles asked.

"Well, I…" Derek shifted, feeling more horrid than ever, "I was just a kid too… I mean…"

"Yeah, kids tie each other up all the time," said Stiles, with heavy sarcasm.

"No, I mean…" Derek felt his skin flame. He didn't think werewolves were capable of blushing like this. "I mean... you tried to run away..."

"No shit," said Stiles.

"I had to keep you safe, Stiles!" Derek protested, "I had to protect you! Something was trying to eat you! You were panicking!"

"You wanted me to calm down so you tied me up?"

Derek blinked. "That was exactly what you said!"

"What?" said Stiles.

"Those words! That's exactly what you said! That day! It has to be you Stiles!"

"Or someone of equal wit!" said Stiles.

"No one thinks like you, Stiles!" Derek cried.

"Gee, thanks!" Stiles intoned, sarcastically.

Derek didn't reply to that. In case he pointed out how much adoration he nearly showed Stiles in just that one sentence.

"Well, thanks for the entertainment," said Peter, "When you know anything, do let me know. I'm slightly curious now."

"Has Peter actually managed to be useful?" Stiles asked.

"I'm afraid not," said Peter, "It seems my dear sister stole my memories too. I shall try not to be bitter about it."

Stiles looked at Derek, "Is he lying?"

Derek shrugged, "Some people can hide lies, even from a werewolf. And Peter's had a lot of practice." But he didn't trust Peter, not one bit.

Peter simply smiled, as though it were some great compliment.

"Well, if I'm no longer needed," said Peter.

"Yeah, thanks," said Stiles, "don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Peter turned to him, full attention on Stiles, their eyes meeting, breath intermingling in a way that made Derek want to insert himself between them and start growling.

"You would have done well as part of my pack," Peter told the teenager in a hushed voice that Derek couldn't fail to hear, and that sent chills down his spine, "but I would have had to tame you first. I would have enjoyed that immensely."

Stiles blinked. Someone growled, deep and angry. It took a moment for Derek to realize it was him.

"Yeah, still the creepiest guy I know," said Stiles.

Peter smirked once more at Derek, and then left. Derek briefly wondered what it would be like to make such an impression that an exit would make people shiver like that.

Stiles watched him go, with a shaking head. "Yep, definitely the creepiest guy I know by a mile," he muttered, "but, Derek, what the fuck, dude?"

Derek, looked at the floor. "It seemed like the right thing …"

"At the time, yeah," said Stiles, "I know. Dude, you've got serious repression tendencies, you know that, right?"

Derek didn't reply. He looked at the laptop, still clutched in Stiles' hands, and when Stiles didn't move the conversation forward, simply took it and opened it.

But Stiles being Stiles, didn't let it go. "So… something else we're not talking about? Like you breaking into my room and us waking the nematon, and all those other times when the whole not talking about stuff worked out great. Or, you know, deadly."

He looked at Derek like he could read every thought Derek could ever have. But Derek couldn't talk. What more was there to say? Derek was a total screw up. There were few people in the world who had failed as many people as Derek had, quite so spectacularly. Even as a kid there had been something wrong with him. Paige, Stiles, Kate, Jennifer. A list of regrets and poor decisions.

Stiles' phone rang. Derek looked down at it, then turned his attention back to the laptop.

Stiles muttered, clearly annoyed, then said, more clearly, "I'm so not dropping this, dude," before he answered his phone. Derek pretended he couldn't hear out of habit, but it was impossible for him not to.

"Hey Scott," said Stiles, voice tired.

"Stiles, dude!" cried Scott's tinny voice through the tiny speaker, "We found her…"

"What? Chloe?" Stiles gasped, "Don't tell me she suddenly smells weird to you, too, please dude! Tell me she's normal!"

"Stiles, I'm sorry…"

"No!" Stiles cried, "She is not evil, dude! No one who puts their foot in their mouth that often can be evil! Imagine the whole evil reveal moment with that many apologies! Dude, she would be laughed out of villain school!"

"No, Stiles, I'm sorry!" Scott interrupted, "Stiles, she's dead."

Stiles dropped the phone.


End file.
